


i only lie when i love you

by dankobah



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Choking, Chronic Pain, Dirty Talk, Drug Use, Eating Disorders, Explicit Language, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family Issues, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Overdose, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kylo Ren Needs a Hug, Kylo Ren is a Mess, Marijuana, Medication, Oral Sex, Permanent Injury, Recreational Drug Use, Rough Sex, Suicidal Thoughts, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, knights of ren are a mix of the killers/muse/royal blood, rey is a model/actress, rockstar kylo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2019-05-27 21:14:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 57,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15033458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dankobah/pseuds/dankobah
Summary: “Don’t talk about Mr. Brightside around him.”The camera is focused on Luke Skywalker, weathered and grey-haired. He’s rough around the edges, beard coating his jaw and part of his neck. The suit he’s wearing is ill-fitting, nothing like what he had been to the Grammys in. Of course, that was 10 years ago, a relic of the 2000’s that died with the new decade.“Ben Solo wrote Mr. Brightside. Kylo Ren is not Ben Solo,” he says then.





	1. prologue

“Don’t talk about Mr. Brightside around him.”

The camera is focused on Luke Skywalker, weathered and grey-haired.  He’s rough around the edges, beard coating his jaw and part of his neck.  The suit he’s wearing is ill-fitting, nothing like what he had been to the Grammys in.  Of course, that was ten years ago, a relic of the 2000s that died with the new decade.

“Ben Solo wrote Mr. Brightside.  Kylo Ren is not Ben Solo,” he says then.

The camera cuts, and it focuses on Leia Organa, flanked by Han Solo. She’s tear-streaked but strong, Han holding her shoulder to keep them together.

“He always had too much Anakin in him.  We should’ve known.” Han says. Leia Organa is incredulous.

“You can’t say that about Ben.  He’s our son. Yes, we should’ve known that Anakin’s career and music would influence him.  We didn’t know how much, or what he was willing to do to get it.” she interrupts.

The screen cuts to pictures then.  Ben Solo, age six at his piano recital.  Ben Solo as an awkward and gangly teen, sixteen in a tux before prom.  His graduation pictures. His college pictures, a picture of him surrounded by frat guys, looking clean cut.  Ben Solo getting his first guitar for Christmas, age 19.

The pictures then shift.  The backgrounds settings become bars, in garages around guitars and band equipment.  Pictures of band practice, of the battle of the bands. Long hair, growing amounts of tattoos.

“The Knights of Ren started as a simple college band.  Ben didn’t start pushing for me to sign him until 21.” Luke says, over a picture of Ben throwing a guitar off a stage.  More tattoos, shirtless on stage.

“He wasn't ready.  The life would’ve chewed him up and spit him out back then.” he then says.

More pictures.  Kylo shaking hands with Snoke, white-haired and looking straight out of a Disney employee handbook.  Kylo holding a platinum record, Mr. Brightside enameled on the front. There are more tattoos on his skin, septum ring in his nose and eyeliner smeared under his eyes.

Shirtless on stage, whipping his hair.  Album signings and smashed guitars and love-bites on groupies.  Fansites, tweets.

“Well...it did chew him up and spit him out.  It did the same to Anakin so it would do the same.” Luke then says, looking pensive.

A narration over grainy concert footage that show a slip and fall that would rock the music world: “Kylo Ren _rushed_ to the hospital for a broken spine, incurred after three back to back tours.” the news anchor reads, her voice too monotone for the tragedy.  TMZ up on the screen with a headline of **Kylo Ren looking pale and sickly after a back injury.  Summer tour still reportedly on schedule.** Pictures of Kylo, back brace clinging to his back while he stands backstage.  

“He toured only 3 months after back surgery.  No wonder he got addicted.” Leia says then.

A Twitter video of him leaned over a table, rolled up dollar bill in his grip and crushed pills on the surface.  A girl is in his lap, blonde and perky. There are more photos of girls, in varying poses of naked and on his lap. One is pushing the plunger on a needle in his skin, looking just as tweaked as he was.

“He was always awkward as a kid, so I think he likes the attention.  All the girls, all waifish fucking primadonnas. Groupies, you know?” Poe Dameron says, leaning against the sofa.  He’s got his arms crossed over his chest, and his face reads like he doesn’t want to be here.

“So of course he had to have his fall from grace.  We all do.” Poe then says.

Headlines flash across the screen.   **Kylo Ren found near-death in Belarus hotel room, police suspect overdose.**

 **Kylo Ren has done it again!  Hotel room trashed and evidence of an overdose**.

“It took 3 of them that we know about for them to put him in rehab.  3.” Han says. Leia is gone now, obviously not here to talk about her son’s addiction.

“I tried calling him.  Of course, I didn’t get an answer.” Han says.

Video footage of Kylo Ren leaving a rehab facility, backpack on his back and looking _healthier_.  Back on stage, playing electric guitar like it never happened.

“I don’t buy the sobriety thing,” Luke admits then.

Luke shrugs, “I think I don’t buy it because I know him-”

The laptop screen slams shut, and the brown eyes stare at the sticker-covered surface.  “Kylo, Phas needs to see you,” Caedus says, and he’s pulling the headphones from his ears.  

“Yeah.  I’m sure she does,” Kylo answers.   

If the documentary he just watched had anything to do with it, they had a lot of work on their hands.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> luna can't stop starting fics 2k18. thoughts and feelings and speculations welcome @ dankobah.tumblr.com
> 
> title based off "i only lie when i love you" by Royal Blood.


	2. careless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh...you’re fucking hopeless Ren.”
> 
> Brown eyes snap open and reel to the doorway, a blonde form leaning against it and staring at his cellphone. They roll then, wheeling back to the clock.
> 
> “It’s a felony to break into someone’s house at 9 AM.” he mumbles. Phasma snorts and leans off the doorway. It’s then that Kylo becomes aware of the body next to him, the weight nuzzled into his side that was overheating him.

“What are your measurements?”

This would be ridiculed if it wasn’t an audition, and Rey tries not to cross her arms defiantly over her chest.  She loved Finn, dearly, but he had to stop recommending auditions she knew nothing about.

_“They’re casting for a music video.  They didn’t say what video when I asked, but they’re doing a private casting call tomorrow morning.” he says, setting the flyer down in front of her.  Rey had been almost face first in her cornflakes, having been up since 4am for a shift at Starbucks._

_This was motivating though, and she picks up the poster.  It reads like any other one, nondescript with a date and time and instructions on how to submit headshots and resumes._

_“How much is the pay?” she asks.  It’s her motivation right now, since Rey is really tired of ramen.  The shoebox apartment in LA is shitty enough, along with the traffic with a car that broke down every 5 days.  Rey was glad she could at least fix it when it did that, otherwise shit would really have hit the fan by now._

_“They didn’t say.  It’s First Order though, it’s gotta be well-paying.  I say go for it.” he said. Rey doesn’t care who’s backing it at this point, and she folds up the flyer._

Now she was under the scrutiny of a ginger-haired, smug-faced asshole and a leggy blonde that exuded intimidation.  

“Um...5’7, 120 pounds.  25, and a 4.” she recites.  This was all on the resume she had set before them.  Of course neither of them actually had glanced at it, only staring at her with a scrutiny that made her skin crawl.

Rey was determined though, and she lifts her chin.

“What do you do Rey?  Besides this.” The ginger says, and she sets her jaw.

“I work at Starbucks.” she answers.  A fact she hates, but Rey was denied by all the hipster ones.  She didn’t understand why, she was their perfect brand of dirty and gruff.

“Oh.  I can’t drink anything there.  Corporate coffee-” he starts. Rey has heard this enough.

“Corporate coffee is a sham.  Yeah I know, I’ve heard it plenty.” Rey says.  He looks incredulous, and the blonde next to him is only gazing at Rey with something unreadable.  Rey immediately regrets her smart mouth.

“I’m so sorry.” she says, quickly to hopefully salvage this audition.  Rey needs the money, even though she knows the girl sat next to her in the waiting room was far more qualified to do this than she, with perfect skin and lips.

“You should be-” he starts again, but the blonde interrupts her.

“I like your attitude.  You’re not afraid to bite back, are you?” she asks.  Rey gazes at her, wondering if she’s _actually_ asking.

Rey ignores the knee-jerk reaction to lie for once.  “No. I’m not.” she answers, head held high. She’s faking it, and the blonde woman stands up and over her.

There’s a pause that makes her stomach plummet, and Rey hopes she hasn’t fucked another audition up.  She really needs some sort of guarantee of money within the next two weeks.

But a smile spreads across the blonde’s face.  “I think we found our girl. Congratulations, Rey.” she says.

It’s like she didn’t even say it, Rey’s breath catching in her throat as the blonde’s hand holds out to shake.

“You….what?” she asked.  It couldn’t have been that easy.

“I have a gut feeling about you.  I never get gut feelings. I never introduced myself either, I’m Phasma.” She says.  Rey can barely even believe it, even as Phasma steps around the table.

The ginger can’t either apparently, open-mouthed and looking from Rey to the floor in shock.  Rey blindly shakes Phasma’s hand, and it’s not even resonating that she’s actually _got_ it.

“That’s Hux.  Don’t worry about him.  Hm, tilt your head to the side.” Phasma says, and Rey does as she says as _Hux_ glares at her.  She wonders who named the poor bastard, and who had the unfortunate task of raising him.

“Yeah, he’ll like you.” Phasma marvels, and Rey’s eyebrows furrow.  He. She wonders who this mysterious figure could be, and she’s wondering if she actually wants to know.

“He?” she probes, quiet and under her breath.

“Kylo Ren.  This is for a Knights of Ren video.” Phasma says, and she’s stepping back to look Rey up and down.  She doesn’t mind the scrutiny, since her breath is lodged in her throat.

She’s heard the band name obviously, any respectable 21 year old in Hollywood would know who they were.  They played some sort of heavy rock, putting Rey’s hair on edge and annoying her ears when people turned it up far too much.

Kylo Ren wasn’t a foreign name to her ears either, but she could’ve sworn he had been phased out of the band or died or something.  Apparently not, and her eyebrows are raising in shock at the _magnitude_ of what she had landed.

“We’d like to call you back to deal with all the legalities tomorrow.” Phasma says, holding out a business card.  Glossy back, reading **First Order**.  Her information is etched in the back and Rey feels the weight of the card in her hand to bring her to the now.

“Of course!  Uh...thank you?” she says, a nervous edge in her voice as she steps towards the door.

“My assistant will get you an appointment.  Good job, Rey.” Phasma says, and that makes the red rise on her cheeks as she leaves the audition room.  She clutches the business card to her chest, tight.

She doesn’t even show any indication of having absorbed this until she gets outside of the offices.

“Fuck yes!” she shrieks, bouncing up and down as she grips the business card.  People look in astonishment as they pass, but no one can ruin this moment for her.

\-------------------------------------

“Oh...you’re fucking hopeless Ren.”

Brown eyes snap open and reel to the doorway, a blonde form leaning against it and staring at his cellphone.  They roll then, wheeling back to the clock.

“It’s a felony to break into someone’s house at 9am.” he mumbles.  Phasma snorts and leans off the doorway. It’s then that Kylo becomes aware of the body next to him, the weight nuzzled into his side that was overheating him.

It’s a girl, a common thing to wake up to.  She’s also blonde, teal tipped hair waving down her back.  There’s a tattoo across her shoulder blade, and it reads _6(Order 66)_ .  He feels bile rise in his throat at his oldest _EP’s_ name, and detaches her body from his as soon as he possibly can.

Kylo opts for opening his bedside drawer, fingers finding purchase on the expertly rolled joint.  At least he had some sense before fucking her, Kylo having come back from that magazine party late.  Of course, he would have forgotten about the _very_ plain jane before him (drugs had fried his brain after all).  She wasn’t a 10 by any means, too pale for him. What else could he expect from a magazine party, one that he took too many edibles before that had him seeing double?

An overestimation, but his back just hurt-

“Fun night?” Phasma asks.

“Speak.” Kylo retorts, and she scowls.  He sticks the joint in between his lips, and lights it.   Phasma is the only person to actually contest him on a daily basis, and most appreciate her for it.

He doesn’t.

“We cast your girl.” she says.  Phasma tosses a glossy piece of paper at him, and Kylo barely catches it as the smoke flows from his mouth.

It’s a photo, of a smiling brunette.  “I asked for a blonde.” he mumbles. It’s not like he’s partial or anything, glancing to the side.

“Tough luck.  She’s got bite.” Phasma says, and Kylo still stares at the picture.  Freckles smatter her nose, and her green eyes crinkle at the edges.

“I don't need bite.  I need someone that’s willing to look hot and crawl all over me.” he answers.  Phasma gives a pointed glance to the blonde beside him, and Kylo glances over again.

He looks at the joint, and taps it off on her back  She awakens with a start, and Kylo nods towards the door.

“Out,” he says.  She’s incredulous, and Kylo knows she’s _almost_ jailbait.

“Did you just-” she starts.

“I ashed on your back yes.  Given my handprint on your ass, you like pain.  Now leave.” he says. The girl is flustered, and she quickly gets out of the bed and gathers her clothing off the ground.  Phasma watches after her before looking at him.

“I can’t fix you being an asshole, you know,” she says.

“You haven’t fixed much about me, have you?  The public still believes that I’m a junkie.” he remarks, finally getting out of bed.  He’s stretching his long limbs as he does, walking past her to the closet.

“You are,” Phasma says.

“Marijuana doesn’t count.  That can’t kill me, and it keeps me with a dull enough pain on stage to line _everyone’s_ pockets.” he defends, sliding on a fresh pair of briefs.  

“Whatever you say.  You want the girl or not?” she asks.  Kylo stops, hand on a Vader t-shirt.

They shot in a week, and he needed to pick already.  Kylo sighs.

“Sure.  I’ll need to meet with her to talk vision.” he says.  He doesn’t want to mention that he wants a _full view_ , instead of a headshot.

“Good.  Was that so hard?” Phasma asks.  

“Get out of my house,” Kylo mumbles, and he hears her heels click across the hardwood and out of his bedroom.

He looks to the side, in the mirror at the orange and purple tinted scales on his bicep that made up the koi fish that twisted along up to his shoulder.  He swears he can still see where the surgical tubing cut into his skin.

He shakes it away and slams the drawer shut.

\-------------------------------------

“You still waiting for someone?”

Rey felt humiliated, arms crossed over her chest as she stares at the empty chair across from her.

It was at least 85 degrees in LA today, Rey sitting at some unfortunate and trendy bistro in West Hollywood.  She was sweating in a black t-shirt and jeans, sunglasses sitting at the crown of her head.

She contemplates dropping them back down so no one can see her annoyance.  Instead, she glances at the waitress.

“He’s just extremely late.  It’s fine.” she recovers, an edge in her voice.

The waitress looks sympathetic before walking away, and Rey glances back at her phone’s digital calendar for the 15th time.  Phasma had set up the lunch with the infamous Kylo Ren, citing that he needed to have a discussion about _vision_ with her.

He hadn’t showed yet, and Rey was stuck here looking like an idiot.  Taking a long sip of her water, she cracks open the menu again. Of course she already knew what she wanted, she had known for the last 15 minutes.

She’s absorbed in reading over the options for the _third_ time, when the table jostles.  Her head whips up, and Kylo Ren is adjusting himself in the seat before her.  Of course, he looks like the google image she had hastily searched last night.

Only there’s a black ring in his nose, instead of silver, and he’s chewing on his lip ring with sunglasses on his eyes.  His hair is wild, pulled messily out of his face. “Sorry. Traffic.” he says. It’s a typical LA answer, and Rey wants to retort ‘leave earlier’.

She’s polite instead.  “No problem. I’m Rey, I presume you’re Kylo?” she asks.  

He looks at her.  “Well...duh.” he answers.  She feels her jaw set before she asks it to.  This was going to be a long lunch, and she mentally prepares.

“Anyways, let’s just get into it.  This isn’t meant to be long,” he says, and Rey’s eyebrows furrow once more.

“Yeah…sure.  I’m game for most stuff.” she says.  Rey doesn’t want to assume he’ll be having her do something demeaning.

“Basically, Come on Over is about my ex.  We were only together for about 4 months-” he starts, and Rey interrupts.

“Am I playing your ex?” she asks.  This was too good, and Kylo is staring at her.

“No.  You’re playing the girl that my ex cheated on me for.  Who I subsequently fucked to get back at my ex. Is that clear?” he asked.  

“Oh...okay.” she can only answer.  This would label her for the rest of her days, she was sure.  

“Good.  Don’t interrupt me again,” he says.  That makes her eyebrows raise, and she stares at him.

“Excuse me?” she asks.  She begins to shake her head as Kylo looks annoyed.

“This is a meeting about _my_ video.  Don’t step on my fucking toes,” he warns.  Rey snorts.

“Okay, you cannot believe it’s right to treat people like this,” she answers.  Kylo shrugs.

“Am I expected to be good?  Did I disappoint you? Let me guess, you _love_ Mr. Brightside-” he’s starting, and Rey can’t hold herself back from standing up.  His brows furrow.

“Sit,” he mumbles, his voice quiet.  Rey’s willing to make a scene.

“No.  Let’s be really clear here.  I will not be talked to this way, and you _never_ made it in the UK for me to know any of your music.  I thought you were dead until 2 days ago.” she spits.  Kylo’s staring up at her, removing the sunglasses.

His eyes are red tinted and he averts them to his water glass.  The ice is melted condensation dripping.

“Please...sit.” he then says again.  Rey’s arms fall to her side and she shakes her head.

“Just email me.  I’m sure you’re much better to deal with in text-” she starts, beginning to walk away.  His hand grabbing her wrist halts her. She wants to rip it away from him, but her head only turns with a scary slowness.

“I’m sorry.  Please sit down,” he says.  She wants to believe him, she wants to sit back down and actually talk it out.  Rey yanks her wrist from him and pulls out her chair.

“ _Finally,_ you’re doing what you’re told.  Thank you.” Kylo breathes, and it makes her freeze.

Finally.  Like she was doing this for him.   _Doing what she was told._

Rey slams her chair back against the table and grabs her resume from her bag.    She throws it on the table, and Kylo’s eyes dart from the paper to her. “My email is on there.  Have a good day and try not to fuck the palm of your hand too hard.” she snaps.

Before he has the opportunity to answer, she’s storming out of the patio area.  He doesn’t follow, she has to check as she stomps to her 1991 Honda Accord.

Rey doesn’t know if what she did was frowned upon, or if she was suicidal.  

She hopes she has a job on Saturday.

\-------------------------------------

He wouldn’t normally have felt bad.

Of course he didn’t at first, livid with anger and considering storming after her.  Of course that probably would’ve gotten him arrested, based on how set in stone his jaw felt.  Instead he rides out the shaking anger he feels, fists clenched as he stares at the table. He stayed like that until the anger bled into _guilt_.  

Another new emotion and he pushes away from the table.  He picks up the resume, leaving a few dollars on the table for the waitress.  She had dealt with them after all, even if it was just getting them water. He wanders out of the patio area.

Yes, he had been late.  Not on purpose, traffic had been worse than anticipated and he had rolled out of bed late.  He didn’t think she would be obviously hurt by it. Then again, it was 30 minutes.

He shouldn’t have been so pushy, or even have touched her.  

He slides into the driver’s seat of the inconspicuous Audi SUV, and he stares at the wheel.  Before he can stop himself, he’s taking out his phone. He glances at the resume for the email, and wheel back to the screen.

**Rey,**

**I’m really sorry about that.  I woke up wrong this morning and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.**

**I’ll connect you with the director so you can hear it all from him, but I want to redo that meeting.  Please let me redo that.**

**Kylo**

He types it, getting rid of the part where he apologizes again and tells her that he’s glad she stood up for herself.  Most people, unfortunately, wouldn’t against him.

He turns on the car and swallows the foreign lump in his throat, hoping she at least replies.  Even if it was to tell him to fuck off and die.

It was the least he deserved.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> banged that out. comments and feelings always welcome @ dankobah.tumblr.com
> 
> chapter title based on 'careless' by royal blood.


	3. you can be so cruel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yeah, I kept it. Fuck off,” he whispers. She bites her lip, and Rey looks at the floor.
> 
> “Then you have no problem reaching me if you need to,” she says. Kylo isn’t looking at her either.
> 
> “Maybe I want you now? What do you say to that?” he asks, then stepping forward.
> 
> Rey holds her ground, making him stop and posture himself. “That’s not how we get things we want,” she answers simply. It makes his mouth open.

Worried is a new feeling.

Foreign, twisting at the pit of his stomach as he stands at the end of the driveway of the house they were shooting at.

A modern monstrosity with sweeping views and a dark bedroom  It was perfect for what he imagined in his head. Rey just wasn’t here yet.  Granted her call time was at 9:30, and it was only 9:28.

She had 2 minutes to decrease his worries, to reassure him that he didn’t just fuck this entire video shoot.  She had gotten his email, and the reply was cold and brief enough to make him flinch at first reading.

_Phasma already gave me his information.  Thanks._

_Rey_

Further readings only weighed on him.  Short and simple, having an undercurrent of anger that he could taste on the back of his tongue.  He hated people being angry at him, and he hated realizing it. Especially someone he barely knew, and he assumed barely knew him.  Everyone knew who he was. Right?

He was infamous.  Infamous for being a brat, a destructive monster. Notorious in being angry, hateful, spiteful. Here he was, caring about some poor model’s feelings; probably a vapid creature.

But he knew she wasn't.  Rey wasn’t like the girl in his bed last week, cocaine-addled and too perfect.  She bit back and had effectively fought him off.  A dragon slayer turned model that's pulling up in a gold Honda that looks like it's on its last legs.  Kylo watches it rattle into a spot on the curb, and the engine cuts. Kylo only watches it with trepidation, trying to show his passive side.

He doesn’t care.  He shouldn’t.

She’s getting out, backpack slinging over her shoulder, her hair up in a bun, sunglasses on her face. She exudes distaste, especially as she gazes at Kylo.

But she walks over, and past him.  “Hey.” he greets.

She doesn’t respond, the cold shoulder coming up and smacking him in the face as she walks to a PA.  Kylo doesn’t move, arms crossing over his chest. He waits until she’s inside until he does, storming off to the band’s area.  He made sure they were sectioned off for moments like these.

He was in for a long day with her, and he just had questions.  They needed a olive branch for this video, given the racy content.  So after pacing around the dressing area like a caged animal, he stalks to the other side of the house — a peace offering.

He knocks on the door, hearing a faint come in.  Kylo steels himself, lifting his spine as much as he can.  He enters the bedroom, Rey sat on top of the bed and focused on her phone.  There are rollers in her hair, and Kylo knows that she’s avoiding looking at him.

He gets it.  Kylo does the unusual for him.  He gets on his knees, carefully and before her.  He’s gazing up at her, and Rey looks up at him.

“I’m sorry.” he immediately says.

He watches her jaw set.  “You’re a bad person,” she mumbles.  

He’s heard this before, of course.  It stings more like a slap from her.  He sits back on his heels.

“Maybe I am.  It doesn’t stop me from realizing my bullshit and coming to atone,” he says.  Kylo doesn’t get up, even though his back hurts. It always hurts, he can tough out anything.

“I appreciate it, but I don’t believe you,” she says.  It’s fair, he hates fair.

“I’ll do anything to make it up to you,” he says.  Kylo’s not sure if he means any of this.  He wants to patch this wound.

“Just don’t do this the entire video,” she says, and Rey gets up.  She’s still wearing her hoodie and sweats, Adidas took off by the door.  Her socks don’t match, he notes.

“Fine.  I’ll get out of your hair,” he answers.  He’s shutting the door as softly as he can when he leaves, so he doesn’t slam it and rattle the hinges.  He can’t rage out here, not today and not now. Not over her.

He’s fucked up and blown it, and he knows in his gut that he can’t repair it.

Or he can, and he just has to watch his mouth.  A feat for him these days, he’s gotten snappier when sober.  If anything, the drugs subdued him. Except for those small moments where he left his body and did things he regretted.

Drugs kept the pain away.  Drugs would heal these feelings about Rey.  He can’t do this; he can’t think about it.

Kylo numbly walks back to his section of the house, to await their time on set like one would expect a funeral.

\-------------------------------------

The apology is a surprise.  

She wouldn’t peg him to be the type to get on his knees or even to apologize.  So it’s a shock, and she feels disarmed by it. She knows forgiving him would be the simple thing to do.  She hates hurting feelings but just because he’s famous, doesn’t mean he’s allowed to do whatever he wants and step on emotions.

So she bites back, lashes out.  Rey doesn’t mean he’s wholly evil.  He’s got bad qualities. Kylo leaves as quick as he came after she says it, and Rey’s left to ruminate on the impact it had.

He looked genuinely repentant.

She thinks about it as she slides into the tight black mini dress.  It’s Jersey material, fitted tight along her hips. The booties add a sexy touch and the advantage of height and intimidation.  The thick heel makes it easy to walk in, as she descends the stairs to the master bedroom. It’s their primary area of filming, all dark paneled and black.  And a bear skin rug also dominates before the fireplace, and Rey’s seen enough of the storyboard to know what’s about to happen.

Or why he’s shirtless, relaxed on the bed as he’s talking to the director.  The director is an older one, Tobias Beckett. Hardened and gruff, he had communicated the entire vision with a tone of superiority.

Rey hated it, but she would deal.  “There you are,” Kylo says, and Rey is staring at him.  He sits back on his elbows, and she can see the tattoos on either side of his v-line.

Tiny dice, each separated and reading characters she recognized.  “Sabbac?” she asks. Kylo nods, and he looks her up and down.

“You look beautiful,” he says.  Rey gives a tight smile, feeling like too much black eyeliner lines her eyes.  And to let him know that his compliments mean nothing.

“So the first shot we’re getting is the climb onto the lap.  Your thighs should straddle either side of Kylo. Of course, we’ll get the kiss after that-” Beckett is saying, and Rey glances to Kylo.  

He’s smug, only watching her.  He had a storm coming his way.

“What kind of kiss?” she asks.  Kylo’s eyebrows raise.

Beckett doesn’t seem to notice.  “Hot. Passionate. Feel it out, see what you guys feel natural doing.” he says.  Rey appreciates his casual nature, his easy-going attitude. It must’ve been why Kylo worked with him, domineering himself.

“We need a rolling rehearsal, so please take the time to work out any kinks.” Beckett then says.  Rey tries not to gaze at the camera, which is on a track.

Rey steps away from him, to the spot marked on the wood.  Kylo sits up, smoothing out the denim on his thighs.

The young 2nd AC slates and Rey swallows.  Her face composes.

“Action,” Beckett calls, and Rey takes a deep breath before she walks into frame.  It’s not a regular walk, resembling runway training. She’s confident in heels, as she straddles his lap.  His hands come to splay on her back, and Rey takes a deep breath. He mirrors her.

He’s staring at her in an unclear way, unnerving her.  Before she can think too hard, her lips slot against his. Kylo cages her, pulling her impossibly close as her mouth parts for him.

It’s all for the camera — a mantra.

“Cut!” Beckett calls.  Kylo pulls away, and Rey resists wiping his mouth.  Too intimate, too close as she rises from his lap like a shot.  His hands linger on her and grip the fabric of her dress as she tries to walk away.

“Good.  We need to tweak a light real quick, but we should be ready to go after that.” Beckett says.  Rey nods absently, and Kylo’s pulling her back into his lap.

“Forgive me,” he whispers in her ear.

“Fuck off,” she whispers back, pushing on his chest.

“I’ll be good for you.  Your lips taste like green apple,” he says.  Rey knows she can’t win against that.

“Yours taste like weed.  Sobriety is going well,” she says.  The grip on her dress is like a vice.  Beckett clears his throat, and Kylo releases it.  Rey gets up and walks away, back to her mark.

Kylo Ren was proving to bite back.  She does what she’s directed again, putting more aggression against his lips.  He responds how she wants, clawing along her back.

Once cut is called, he pulls away with deep breaths.  “I have chronic pain from an injury and I cannot survive this job without it,” he says, and it’s raw.  Rey tastes his pain now, and she sees it.

“I-” she starts.

“You wouldn’t know that.  I don’t blame you,” he says.  Rey shakes her head.

“It was wrong of me to be insensitive,” she says.  Silence follows. She doesn’t mind being in his lap, and he doesn’t seem to care about it either.  She gets up when Beckett calls for another take.

Kylo’s gaze never shifts from her.

\-------------------------------------

She’s got him fucked up.

It’s an understatement, a huge one as she splays out on the mattress, burgundy red lingerie caging her body in lace.  It’s a different choice, and it compliments the warmth in her skin.

This is another shot, and he hates himself for requiring so much heavy petting.  He could fake it of course, but he’s known to do everything by the book. Kylo’s eyes are guaranteed to not stray with a creature like her.

The camera is being set up in a different spot, and so they’re just waiting around.  He’s taken to pacing the room since she’s claimed the bed and he doesn’t want to be a nuisance.  He’s proved he can be one.

“Kylo?” she asks.  He keeps up his pacing.

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Stop pacing and take a photo of me?  I want one for my Instagram,” she says.  Kylo looks back at her, and she’s holding out a white iPhone.  The case is a 3D dolphin, and he wants to cringe. He humors her anyways, hopping to stand on the bed.

The combat boots are still on his feet, and he doesn’t give a fuck about the sheets.  He stands over her, poising the phone carefully and snapping pictures. She’s naturally photogenic, almost glowing from any angle.

She’s the type of pretty that grows like a bad seed.  “Bellissima,” he comments, handing the phone back to her and flopping to sit cross-legged on the mattress beside her.  

“Is the nose ring irritating?” she asks.  Kylo doesn’t mind her hand reaching to tip his chin up.

“No.  I like it,” he says.  Kylo got his septum pierced at 24, and he had taken it in and out over the years.

“You also have nipple piercings.  Where are those?” she asks. She’s curious, and she’s seen his body before.

“Look on google much?” he asks.

He hopes it changes the subject.  “I always do when I’m metaphorically fucking someone on screen,” she says.

“You like what you see?” he finds himself asking.  Fuck him for being so insecure, and her face reflects with concern as she sits up.

“Yes.  Don’t let that inflate your ego.” she acquiesces.  

Kylo snorts, and he’s not known for his filter, “If you think I’m so pretty, let’s fuck, I’m told it helps hurt feelings."

Her scoff is audible, but she doesn’t shove him away or slap him.  Instead, she looks curious, face changing to demure. “Hm.” she only offers, and it makes more frustration twist up in his gut.

“Let me please you,” he whispers, as the camera is set.  Kylo adjusts as she does, hovering over her as she climbs up to lay against the pillows.

“Not fair,” she whispers back.  He’s never been known for fairness, Kylo liking his innate ability to disarm.  He comes to part her legs, kneeling between them.

“Just like that.  Action.” Beckett calls.  His lips hit hers with a ferocity.  His passion displays in predatory ways, his hands pushing up the back of Rey’s bra to claw at her skin.

This was their moment, obvious at how her hands trail down her sides.  He’s trying to toe the line between pleasure and pain, giving her a clear choice on being aroused.  Her response, nails dragging down his chest as her hips roll against him.

She’s responsive.  That makes Kylo's head swim.  “Cut! That was hotter than the storyboard.” Beckett says.  

Lips break away, breathless.  He’s pulled her into his lap again, caging her in with his arms like a dragon with mountains of gold.  Possessive, protective of her exposed body. Its moments like these where he wishes for privacy, as she’s looking at his face.  He still hasn’t let her go.

“Can I make a suggestion?” she asks.  

Kylo visibly perks.  “Let me initiate it for a take.  Please?” she asks. He focuses on her, watches her eyes.  Then he unwraps his arms from her body.

He gets off the bed, slinking away to the director.  Most visibly move out of his way.

“Rey wants to initiate next take.  Let her try it,” he says. Beckett looks at him, and it’s clear the subject is not to be argued with.  

The man nods and gestures back to the bed.  “Of course,” he says, and Kylo’s turning and stalking back to the bed.  Rey’s eyes are following him as he sits back against the pillows, spreading his legs ever so slightly.

“Practice run?” he asks.  She wrinkles her nose at him, and he sneers.  It’s obvious she’s flushed, the tips of her ears showing red.

“We’re ready for you two,” Beckett says.  Kylo quickly composes, along with her. She was more of a natural at slipping into a new identity, simple as changing shirts.  The girl she was portraying wasn’t Rey; he had fucked this girl in his life before.

No, instead Rey was blue balling him like it was her fucking identity.

“Action!” Beckett calls after the slate hurriedly gets out of the way.  Rey’s on her hands and knees and crawls across the sheets and shifts back on her heels.  

Her hands gently grasp his jaw, and Kylo lets her pull him to her lips.  He sits up for it, bridging the gap as they connected for the 80th time that day.  The power dynamics noticeably shift, as her body presses closer and forces him back against the headboard.

Tug of war, Kylo lets her win.  Letting her hands roam down his chest and sides, allowing her mouth take him somewhere else.

They break on the cut, and her eyes are darker.  He knows the look; he doesn’t want to step too far out of line.  “Just ask me,” he whispers in her ear, as he sits up.

He hears her breath catch.  “I’ll please you. I won’t be selfish,” he whispers.  Sweet words, they’re foreign coming from his lips. Rey’s looking at him, and Kylo’s hands drift down her back.

“Fucking me isn’t an apology,” she whispers.

“I’ll apologize as you ride my cock.  I promise.” he retorts. Kylo wants her; he’s never wanted anything more.  It’s a claim, a rite of passage at this point if he gets to have sex with her.

“I’ll apologize as I eat your pussy-” he starts, and she’s breaking away from him and crawling back to her place on the bed.

Beckett is coming up to speak to them.  “I liked that take. Let’s keep doing that,” he says.

The man is determined to kill him.  She also is, as a small smile flicks upon her lips.

He's done for.

\-------------------------------------

Her portion of the video had wrapped late at night, hitting about 14 hours on the shoot.

Rey was almost thankful for it, as she and Kylo go their separate ways to their separate quarantines.  The only part weighing heavily on her brain is his words.

_I’ll please you.  I won’t be selfish._

She contemplates it, dropping the robe and looking at the nude pasties on her skin.  Full frontal wasn’t something that Rey was paid for today, and it was only a precaution for their implied fucking scenes.

She peels the first one off, then the second as she slides her plain white shirt on in the mirror.  She hears a knock, and she visibly steels herself in the mirror. Rey knew who it was.

“Come in,” she calls, and Rey doesn’t reach for her sweats.  No use, as Kylo, opens the door and steps into the room, closing it in a fluid and quiet motion.  His eyes flit to the mirror she’s standing before, and Rey swallows to compose.

It was hard to posture around him since he had little regard for boundaries.  She doesn’t know if she likes it or loathes it. “I don’t give things up easily.” he starts.  Rey’s eyes roll, and she turns to face him.

“I’m not yours to give up,” she answers.  She idly reaches for her sweatpants next to him, and his hand flashes to grab one of the legs.

She tugs, her eyes full of warning.  He doesn’t let go. Rey lets it go, not into the games.  He also lets it go.

“Come here,” he says.  Rey holds out, arms crossing over her chest.

“You take what you want.  Why not now?” she asks. Kylo focuses on the floor.

“Because I like consent,” he answers.  Simple, to the point. Rey takes a cleansing breath, and Kylo stands.  He walks to her, drifting as if a wind has taken him.

Her eyes are averted.  His only stare at her, and he reaches out to smooth across her shoulder.  “You made the video better today,” he says, low. It resembles a confession, and Rey chances a glance at him.

He’s sincere, which makes her stomach turn over.  Tempting, he’s drawing her in like a siren would a sailor.  “I need to...know you better,” she whispers. Kylo’s hands still drift on her shoulder.

“I’m better when you don’t know me,” he says.  It sounds rehearsed, quiet and emotionless.

Rey shakes her head and shakes him off.  “I’ll leave my number with you.” she finally says.  He doesn’t reflect anything at this.

“I have it on your resume,” he answers then, quiet.  Rey looks up from the floor, and Kylo rubs the back of his neck.

“Yeah, I kept it.  Fuck off,” he whispers.  She bites her lip, and Rey looks at the floor.

“Then you have no problem reaching me if you need to,” she says.  Kylo isn’t looking at her either.

“Maybe I want you now?  What do you say to that?” he asks, then stepping forward.

Rey holds her ground, making him stop and posture himself.  “That’s not how we get things we want,” she answers quietly. It makes his mouth open.

Then it shuts, and Rey takes her sweatpants.  “Good luck on the rest of the shoot,” she says, sliding them on.  She walks past him, grabbing her backpack off the ottoman and walking towards the bedroom door.

“I’ll make sure you can’t walk for a week when I fuck you.” he then says.  It gets Rey to stop, Adidas on her feet now.

She pauses, to let him know she heard it.  Then she wrenches open the door, stepping out into the hallway and slamming it behind her.

The power radiating through her limbs makes her smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've updated a million times this week but have another one idk. ya know the drill, thoughts and comments @ dankobah.tumblr.com if you feel so inclined.
> 
> chapter title based off of "you can be so cruel" by royal blood.


	4. the man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That explains the snobby attitude to a T, she holds back from saying it outright.  “Oh.”
> 
> “They considered me to be a prodigy but I haven’t touched a set of keys since 16.  The beginning of the end so to speak.”
> 
> Kylo Ren went from total piano geek to the makings of a jaded rock star in a matter of 12 years.  No wonder he wasn’t the most stable human to be around, a livewire in a puddle of water.
> 
> “Are you going to keep watching?”

A month passes before she even **cares** aboutKylo’s name again.

Much less that he comes across her screen asking to meet her at a Starbucks in North Hollywood.  It’s a Starbucks that takes 40 minutes in traffic to get to, but at least he’s sitting there when she arrives.  Guaranteed she’s 5 minutes late, and he definitely could’ve gotten lucky on his arrival time. Trying to act like she hadn’t just spent her entire morning on a Starbucks shift, she affixes a pleasant look and heads to sit.

He’s reading when she sits across from him, some Frost book that makes the long inky hair pulled out of his face look douchey.  “I didn’t peg you for poetry.”

“Helps lyricism.” A good argument but she can’t help her snark.

“Knights of Ren has lyricism?”

The glare makes her want to sink into her chair, but he manages to contain it and shut his book.  Sitting up, Rey can’t help but mirror him. A professional attitude was needed, especially with him always out to disarm.

Come to find out, after internet searches and drunk conversations, Kylo Ren was always the opposite of docile.  

_“I cleaned up the hotel room he OD'd in.  A mess, vomit everywhere. Found a picture of his mom.”_

_“I remember going to a Knights of Ren show and Kylo just wrecking a 100,000 dollar speaker.”_

_“My sister fucked Kylo Ren, and he kicked her out after coming on her tits.”_

It’s too bad he didn’t come with a massive warning label on his person.  But a sneaking suspicion, deep down, tells her that their version of Kylo Ren was not the version she has been encountering.

“The video is done.  I thought you would want to watch it before the world sees it.”

The world, like it wasn’t terrifying or anything.  Hopefully, the Knights of Ren were as dead as she had hoped, and barely anyone would see it.  But there was a fat chance of that, bitter thought crossing his mind as the phone slides across the table to hit her knuckles.

Expecting to ask for a passcode, she’s surprised when it just swipes to unlock.  “No passcode?”

Face reflects conflict, then masks to stoicism.  “If they can take a phone off of a 6’6 guy, by all means, they can rifle through it.”

Candid but not the truth, and Rey honestly doesn’t care about the facts.  “It’ll be in my photos. Last one.”

Clicking on the app, she tilts the phone horizontally and clicks play.

The first thing that jumps out at her, trying to avoid looking at all the moments she was in, was every time they cut to a shot of the dark red and black electric guitar in his grip.  The fingers are playing it also, expertly skilled even if they were faking it. Pausing the video to his annoyance, “Were you actually playing?”

Apparently it's a dumb question based on how his eyebrows furrow at her.  “I always play. I write the notation, so there’s no excuse.”

Notation, like some classically trained composer.  “How long have you been doing music?”

Sitting back, he stares at the cover of his book, “Since age 4?  My mother started me on piano and it progressed from there.”

That explains the snobby attitude to a T, she holds back from saying it outright.  “Oh.”

“They considered me to be a prodigy but I haven’t touched a set of keys since 16.  The beginning of the end so to speak.”

Kylo Ren went from total piano geek to the makings of a jaded rock star in a matter of 12 years.  No wonder he wasn’t the most stable human to be around, a livewire in a puddle of water.

“Are you going to keep watching?”

Asked with expectancy, she unpauses the video right as hints of sex begin to fill the screen.  The questionable angles that Beckett used seemed to do the job, showing twisting and jealous hate sex.  The softness of his lips floods back to her along with his hands on her body, almost making her able to taste and feel him again.

Instead, he sits across a Starbucks table with arms-crossed scrutiny, watching her face for each reaction.  Under a microscope, Rey’s glad she’s an actress and can hold her face in composure. Noting that Beckett used the takes where she’s in control, she gives several little glances to him.

A dominant, someone who could control Kylo Ren was a surprisingly good light to be painted in.

It ends with her slapping him (very enjoyable to film), and storming off.  A brief smile on his face before it cuts to credits, she lets the phone rest back on the table.  Pushing it back to him with gentle fingers, he cocks his head. “What did you think?”

Honesty was her best policy and she shrugs.  “It’s a music video.” Rey’s non-committal and his brows knot at that.

“Suppose it's not movies you’ve been in.”

Her eyebrows furrow now.  “I haven’t been in a movie.  Only student films.”

Kylo cocks his head.  “Ah, so this will be your come up.”

“If it’s even a come up.”

Both sets of eyes narrow at each other now, and she adjusts the strap of her purse on her shoulder.  Not even taken off, she wasn’t planning on sticking around too long. “You have my approval, and I have to go.”

“Drink a coffee and stick around for once, kid.  I’m not gonna bite.”

Hand still in her bag to grab her car keys, she glares, “I’m not a kid.”

“Twenty-one is pretty kiddish.”

“You don’t know what the fuck I’ve been through.” Spit from pretty lips, her head whipping up to stare at him with warning.

Rey never even had something remotely close to _a normal childhood_ , abandoned in South Africa at the tender age of five.  Hard to call yourself a child when you were the sole provider, the only inklings of normalcy dripping into her life after being adopted by Maz Kanata at 16.  Since that, it was three years of hot summers before escaping out to Hollywood for a dream.

While making a mental note to call Maz and complain about this asshole, “I’m sorry.  I’ll buy you a coffee, just _stay_.”

Stay.  Kylo is getting up before she can resist and her purse drops with a clunk on the tile next to her chair.  

“Iced Americano.”  Sure, she could give him her complicated latte order to fuck with him, but she’s too exhausted to even deal with the potential fallout of that.  He walks away, long limbs setting him apart from everyone else in the Starbucks. It’s a wonder that he hadn’t even been recognized yet, she takes the opportunity to text Finn.

_Meeting with Kylo Ren rn._

Setting her phone back on the table, her eyes flit back to watch him hulk over the counter.  Kylo was honestly too big for most things in this world, maybe that was a part of the vibrating hostility that seeped out of him at all times.

 **How’s that going?** Finn’s response flashes on her screen, always ready to talk shit.

How was it going?

_I guess good.  He’s buying me a coffee._

Green eyes watch him walk to the drink counter, looking down at his phone which is far too small in his palm.

**That’s strange.  I pegged him as gay, all that toxic masculinity.**

_I highly doubt there’s romantic intent._

More like fuck _Rey’s brains out_ intent.

**Make sure he doesn’t drug it.**

Not even a laughable joke for her, he sits back across from her.  The cup set before her, he crosses his arms over his chest as he looks at her.

“You didn’t need to get me a Venti.”

“You think I know sizes here?”

Fair point well made and she’s taking the wrapper off the straw.  Stabbing it into her drink like an IV into a vein, she takes a long sip of the coffee.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?”

Finn was right; she was in far too deep.

“Nothing that I can think of.” She had planned on tentative a movie night with Rose since she was off work for once.  It didn’t mean a yes or no (she could still come up with something to cancel).

“It’s the video release party tomorrow and I just wanted to see you...there.”

There.  Her.  Rubbing elbows with everyone in the music industry.  “I don’t have anything to wear.”

“That’s the worst excuse I’ve heard.  You’ll figure it out.” Presumptuous to think she was going to show up.  Rey was going to consider it (probably showing up out of politeness in the end), and her arms crossed over her chest.

“I want you there.”

“Cute.  I’ll consider it.”

It’s hard to forgive the assholishness when they first met, but eventually, she would let him off the hook.   _If he still talked to her at that point._

“Cute?  I’m glad my pain is cute.”

“You can’t be in pain from blue balls.”

His lower lip sticks out a little and Rey sips long through the straw.  It was fun to torture him; she had to admit that much.

“You know I would treat you right.”

“Like all the other girls?” Silence follows that as he looks her up and down.  

“You can’t take things that I did at 22 and then apply them to who I am now.  Doesn’t work that way sweetheart.”

Far from a fair or accurate point, her eyes narrow at him.  “Stop calling me sweetheart and I’d listen to you more.”

Noncommittal shrug rocks his shoulders.  “You’re a sweetheart. As much as you try to hide it, your insides are fucking mush.”

Rolling her eyes, she commits to herself to not rip his throat out for that, “You know nothing about me.”

“I know that you’re lonely.”

Woah.  Eyes are whipping from the top of her coffee lid, Rey feels akin to freshly cleaned glass.  “How-”

“It’s an identifiable look.  Don’t worry, I feel it too.”

Intimacy creeps and her insides want to burst into flames at it.  Rey was not supposed to be feeling intimate with Kylo Ren, warning bells ringing in the back of her head.  Heavy silence as she sips her coffee again, she’s trying to come up with a reasonable excuse to get the fuck out of Starbucks.

“Where do you live?”

What’s the worst that could happen?  “Silverlake.”

“Oh, the album party is in Silverlake.  You have no excuse.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Exasperation takes over while she shakes her head.

Smiling for a split-second (it looks like sunshine bottled in comparison to his normal downpour), his face then composes.  “I’ll pay for your uber.”

“I can pay for my own uber.”

“God, let me fucking flirt with you, Rey.” Exasperation is coloring his tone, she sips more of her coffee.

Tempting to see him try, she opts to shake her head, “I’m not good at flirting.”

“Okay, well then at least tell me what’s on your mind.”

What was on her mind?  Honesty suited most since all she can stare at are his lips.  Soft-looking, her eyes flick up. “How much I want to go watch the Bachelor right now.”

A lie, she can tell he knows it is.  Though he sits back, “That's a dumb show.”

“We all have our vices.”

“Wouldn’t I know.”

His rebuttal is quiet, under his breath.  Pretending not to notice, she leans her elbow on the table,  “What’s your type?”

“My type?”

“For women.”

Interestingly, she’s genuinely curious about his answer. He sits back and surveys her.  

“I look at eyes first usually.  I also like confidence, someone who can bite back.  I don’t do well with boring.”

“Boring?”

“Vapid is a better word, not bringing anything of substance to the table.”

He’s staring pointedly at her and she can’t help her anxiety, “Am I vapid?”

A quick shake of his head, “No.  You make fun of me when you probably shouldn’t.  It’s...hot.”

Who knew that Kylo Ren thought being made fun of was hot?  Nodding her head in _almost_ appreciation, she sucks more coffee through the straw, “You think I’m hot.”

It’s fun to toy with him, and she knows he’s playing his own game with her as he leans forward.  With a surprisingly soft voice, “I think you’re hot yeah. Hotter than most.”

Cocking her head, her best stoicism on, “You’re very complimentary.  It’s cute.”

“What’s gonna be cute is you coming on my cock.”

“Very presumptuous of you to think I would _ever_ dare.”

They’re both staring at each other like a game of chess.  Rey is closing in on his queen until “Why’d you get wet on set then?”

 _Fuck_.  Eyebrows furrowing while he continues,  “You think I can’t feel your wet little cunt on my jeans?  Oh, sweetheart.”

Feeling as if he just ripped off all of her skin, this situation is out of her hands and into his.  A very for power, “The content was of a sexual nature-”

“Did you feel me get hard?”

 _Jesus Fucking Christ._ “No.”

A lie and he can see through it, “Sure.  You felt how big my cock was and you liked it.  Your fucking mouth parted that one scene-”

“Keep your voice down,” Gritted teeth as it enters the airspace with him, and he promptly shuts up.  

For his sake, “I have to go.”

“Why?”

“None of your business.” Getting up from the chair and slinging her bag over her shoulder, he rises also.

Glancing at him, she picks up her coffee, “Let me walk you to your car.”

A sort of pleading in his voice and Rey is glad she’s reduced him to that at least.  “Fine.” Not even waiting for him to process her answer, she starts walking out. Hot on her heels, he manages to hold the door open for her. Ducking under his arm, she turns right to walk the four blocks to her beat up Accord.  In step with her, he’s an annoying enigma.

“So you’re coming right?”

Head whipping over and eyes narrowing, “I’ll consider it.”  Like it was hard (she wanted to spite him now), her hair flicks over a black-clad shoulder.  There’s a heavy silence as he follows her, and glances to the side have to confirm he’s still trailing beside her.

He walks like he owns the space, and Rey wishes she had that amount of confidence.  “What music do you like?”

Worried this was a trick question, she opens her mouth to respond before, “I know you don’t like mine.  So be honest.” Breathing a sigh of relief, she looks at the pavement as they walk.

“I like the 3POs-”

Nearly cringing, he looks over at her.  “I’ll send you a playlist of what you _should_ be listening to tonight.”  Her eyes roll, and she should’ve pegged him for a high and mighty music taste.  Being a musician and all that gave him an inflated ego to think he was the be all end all for all tastes.  Arrogance personified, it takes her everything not to bite back into flesh.

“Sounds good.”  There was no shame in trying to hear the asshole out.

“How long you been a model?”

Actress, she prefers acting path more than just standing and looking pretty.  It’s still a loaded question, making her blow a strand of hair out of her face.  Green eyes wheel over as she shakes her tresses out.

“A year.  It’s not going so well.” Glaringly evident by the fact that she still works at Starbucks.  What a tedious job, nothing in comparison to anything he probably ever done. Kylo probably didn’t ever have to lift a spoon to his cold lips.

“Blondes are in right now.”  He had a way of making her feel too insecure.

“Yeah, I’m aware.  Thanks.” Bitter from her lips, her car is in sight.  He seems to know it too, slowing down as she did to step off the curb and get around to the driver's side.  Staying on the curb, he’s watching her unlock the car.

“Please consider coming.  I meant it when I said I wanted to see you.”

Vulnerable, he seems genuine.  Having to hold out, she sighs, “I said I'd think about it.”  Already knowing he’s displeased with the answer, he waves silently to her.  

Rey ducks into her car.  Her ears perk at a, “Drive safe.”  That gets her to smile, even as he lumbers the opposite way to wherever he's headed.

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Rey doesn’t reply to his text, and it’s infuriating.

Girls usually fell head over heels for him, tripping over their slack jaws and dreamy eyes.  Tortured rockstar pheromones practically seeped from every pore, and Rey is something that is resistant to his allure.

So he doesn’t expect her to show when she doesn’t reply to his text with the playlist or even the text with the address.  Spending time on that playlist, he can’t help but be bitter as he’s heading inside from the quiet rooftop. Some loud techno music (that he did not ask for) blares over the speakers, the club that First Order rented out.  A black leather/vinyl, it looked like a gothic playland. No one in the events department hadn’t gotten the memo that the sixth album wasn’t goth at all, or that Knights Of Ren had ever been close to goth. Punk was preferred, he’ll even accept plain old rock.  

It would’ve been poor form to ditch his own video release party, but his glaring sobriety felt like tiny knives trailing down the back of his skull.  Only able to safely dart between the band’s table and a stall in the bathroom, it’s so he’s not tempted by the various syringes and spoons being passed around in the shadier areas of the club.  No one _believed_ he was sober, evident by the offers he got when he did run into some other unfortunate addict that First Order ponied beside him.  Displayed as if they were the same caliber, he was more than some 16-year-old girl wonder who liked boys and rainbows.

Kylo made substance, or he liked to think he did.  The music is so loud that conversation is hard as he slides back in the booth.  The video has yet to premiere, having to wait another hour before he can reasonably get out of here.

It’s obvious Rey wouldn’t show.  Why would she?  Kylo had made an ass of himself and would have to deal with the consequences.

The waitress flits by, busty and blonde and typically his type.  Realistically, he could charm the panties off of her right here and have his way with her in a bathroom stall.

 _Rey could show up_.

Hope is trickling out from deep inside his (supposedly) cold heart, the waitress asks if they want anything else.  Understanding the double entendre in her tone and gaze, he sits back. “Tonic water and lime. Virgin.”

Giving up alcohol had been a cakewalk compared to heroin, barely drinking it by the time he had been drowning in the deep end.  There wasn’t much he remembered of that time, the one year before quitting being a blurry mess of needles, blow, and random women who he did all sorts ofthings too.  Withdrawals had made him the equivalent of a monster, waiting room chair throwing and feral.  It took him a solid sixteen days to calm down and actually begin to _accept_ the program.  Nothing else to do, rehab had been a sort of subconscious drilling process.   

It was hard.  Why wouldn’t it be?  Quitting a substance that kept the pain at bay was terrifying, leaving him raw and exposed post-rehab.  But healing was coming slow, seeing a therapist when he can and doing physical therapy for the 3 months he could.  Tour had him out of town all the time, making any routine or habit hard to stick to.

He had been clean for three years, and it wasn’t something to scoff at.  Even if the world wanted to.

“You look down.”

Caedes is sipping his beer, and Kylo is only comfortable with his bandmates drinking around him.  They won’t pressure him, he knows they would never even try. Drug use had almost ruined the band, an ultimatum posed after almost-overdose five and the handlers started carrying Narcan everywhere.

 _“We’re not here to watch you die.  Get sober or all of_ **_this_** _is done, we won’t play until you do.”_

It had been the kick in the ass he needed in the end, not the pressure from his tour handlers or security guards or even _Snoke_ .  Snoke is what therapists would peg as an enabler, somehow still in his life like a cockroach that wouldn’t die, Kylo was really unable to really cut him for contractual reasons.  Kylo was in for 2 more years until he could reasonably retire or leave First Order. Ticking down the days on his calendar was only a pleasure, excited to jet off for six months and disappear forever after that.  It wasn’t like he didn’t _like_ making music.  But an album a year, a tour a year wore you down the older you got.  He’s twenty-nine and he felt it in his back whenever he got on stage, in his shoulders when he threw guitars at amps.

“It’s nothing.”

A typical answer and the drinks come back by with miss smiley waitress.  Tonic water fizzing as she sets it down, he knocks it back like one would with a shot.  Clearing the glass, he sets it aside and glares at the shiny black patent of the table. It shone even under gaudy red club lights.

The only thing that catches his attention (not even the Knights of Ren sophomore album hit _Smile Like You Mean It_ blaring over the speakers), is his phone vibrating in his back pocket.  Quickly grabbing it, there are two messages on the screen from _Rey_.  Rey was texting him, and he didn’t have to text her first.

_I’m outside._

_The bouncer won’t let me in._

That just wouldn’t fly for him.  

Rising up to an intimidating full height, he’s an enigma as he pushes his way through packed bodies of musicians and label execs alike.  Press was also intermingled in the crowd, descending like vultures to a rotting carcass. Trained to tune all the bullshit out, he just shoves his way through and descends the stairs to break into the cooler night.

“Listen, I’m on the fucking list-”

Rey’s a vision, Kylo can tell that the glossy black dress on her body is latex.  The poor girl put on latex for him, and it’s the hottest thing he’s fucking seen.  “She’s on the list.” A growl at the bouncer, extending a hand out to Rey. Her hair waves to her shoulders and face not overly done up.  The dress and heels speak for themselves, high strappy stilettos. Hand fluttering into his, she walks somehow in stride with him.

Eventually, he lets her take the lead, so he can creep behind her.  They still held hands up the smoked acrylic stairs to the upper level of the club.  It’s dark but the red flicks off her skin with every rotation of a bulb. There’s something dangerous about her in this glow, especially as she stops on the landing of the stairs.

Halting with her, she turns around and leans against the acrylic railing.  It has a partial view of the dancefloor downstairs, and people pass back and forth.  No one dares come between them, not when the mighty Kylo Ren was staring down at an unknown model like she was the last drop of water in the world.

Hungry eyes rake over her, and she looks at her nails instead of him, “Where’d you get the latex and how do I see it on you more often?”  Tight fitting over her hips, her legs look miles long with the cut just about mid-thigh. Watching her bend over would be a sight, and he shuffles even closer to her.

“I have my sources.” Coy as she says it, his head cranes down to hear her better.  Rey’s irresistible and smells like deep musk with a rose hint that sits at the back of his tongue to taste.   _Rey_.  

It would cement as such, probably coming out in some cheesy song lyric that girls would get giggly over for generations to come.  “So you came.” Not shock in his voice, genuine curiosity plagues him as he bites on his right snakebite.

Tugging at them, she shrugs, “I did.  I just wanted to know what your deal is.”

His deal?  Like there was something wrong with him.  “I just like your attitude.” A cop out, he likes a lot about her.  Her body, for what it's worth now, highlighted only for his eyes to rove.

Black lined eyes watch him, “Some party.”  Her tone gets him to snort as he glances around the party with her before letting his eyes land back on her.  Of course, he wants to leave, tempt her into coming with him like a siren to a sailor. _Just back to my house, just in my car._  Only she’s the siren and he’s the sailor at this moment, as the palm of her hand smooths down his t-shirt clad chest.  A vintage tee, as usual, the dates of the Vader tour in 1974 printed on the back.

“Not up to snuff?” Distracted by her hand but holding his composure, this party was pretty lame in comparisons to the ones he had been to before, though the best ones had been while he was on enough drugs to kill a full-grown bear.  Looking up at him, he watches as she shifts to her other foot. The tiny knives holding up the arches of her feet probably feel like fire.

“Let me take you to my table.  Meet my bandmates.” Rey hadn’t met them, only there for their individual scenes and shots, the actual band parts filmed the next day.  Only a nod rocks her head, and he’s glad she’s not resisting him for once. It was time to employ rare mother-taught charm.

Walking up the stairs behind her, it’s meant to be a shield for eyes from behind.  Shouldering through the crowd was still hard, even with Rey listening to his whispered directions in her ear to find the roped off VIP table that had become a safety.

Unclipping the red velvet rope, she walks through first and he trails behind like a phantom.  Glances from his bandmates hit him as she slides into the booth first, sliding in just after her.  Their thighs are close, nearly pressed together as his legs accommodate the lean for the sake of his spine.  Steel rod and all, sitting and standing would forever be  _interesting_ (and painful at times).

“Guys, this is Rey.  Rey, the band,” he says.  They knew _plenty_ about Rey after Kylo had a fit about her in the studio.

_“She acts like she’s so fucking perfect!  And fuck, she probably is but she doesn’t have to rub it in!”   Throwing the headphones off his ears, he steps away from the microphone in the booth and walks to get his water off the table behind him._

_“You’re just mad because she’s holding off from getting in with you too fast.”_

_No sound engineer can mimic the sound his water bottle makes when it hits the soundproof glass._

Before she can ask, his fingers point from left to right.

“Caedes, Bastiaan, Rahim, and Jacobo.”  Caedes supported on keys and synth, Bastiaan taking drums, Rahim on supporting electric guitar, and Jacobo on bass.  Kylo did double duty with vocals and primary electric guitar. It was how they had always been, since 19 in a prim and proper music hall at Princeton.  Her eyes survey all of them, including him, before nodding.

“Nice to meet you all.” It’s diplomatic and the waitress passes by with a sour pucker on her lips to some other record executive’s table.  

“You want a drink, Rey?”  Rey is watching the bodies mill about, eyes a sort of starstruck.  

When she realizes that he spoke, he swears he can see the flush creep across her chest live.  “Uh...yeah sure. If you-” Kylo gives her a look before his head snaps to the waitress walking by again.  His attention back on her draws her over, and she opens her mouth to speak. Wrong choice.

“Rey, what do you want?”  Interrupting her for the one he _actually_ wants to go home with, Rey looks confused before looking at over at the nearly _fuming_ blonde.  

“A Moscow Mule, please.  Also water.” A modest order, he glances around the table.

“Water.  Anything for you guys?”  Water was needed for the cottonmouth she was giving him, and he’s wondering if he can tempt her to a joint on the rooftop to keep the trend.  Really get the conversation flowing.

A collective shake of heads from the band, water is already out in front of them and they still have to talk to the abundance of executives.  Kylo had done that earlier in the evening, to get them off his back and out of the party. Snoke had yet to show (he doesn’t doubt he will appear at the inopportune moment), and he was the _last_ obligation for the night besides the video.

Rey is still looking around while he opts to gaze on her profile.  The soft cut of her cheekbone, angular nose and the slight gleam at the highpoints of her face.  Leaning in close to her ear, there’s no ban against PDA for him. Everyone at the table has witnessed him try to put the moves on someone, self-consciousness wasn’t a thing.  “Video happens in an hour, and I know you don’t want to just sit here.” Whispered along the shell, fingers come to push hair away from her neck, so he can view the side of her throat.  Mark free and perfect, he’s happy to know she’s at least a _good girl_.

Smug smirk on her lips, she turns to fully look at him.  What he’s not prepared for is her hand running through his hair, leaning into his ear herself.  “What did you have in mind?”

She’s at least playing along before she so harshly steps on his balls beneath a heel.  Not that he would be upset about the ball smashing (he wonders if she would smile during it), he enjoys the carding strokes through his hair.  Wanting to flex onto his belly as if he were a cat, he opts to rub his hand over her smooth thigh as he sits back again.

“Could go to the roof.  I doubt liquor is allowed up there, but…” Trailing off because they all know what he’s gonna say.  

_Who’s gonna stop me?_

“Fine.  Sounds interesting.”

 _Interesting_ , like his lips on hers, wasn’t going to be the most important aspect of their night tonight.  Sexual energy hums like a powerbox and he hoped to god he didn’t get shocked. Opting to squeeze her thigh beneath his rough grip, the drinks come by with very little personality from the waitress.  Defeated by the likes of Rey, she immediately storms away as Rey lifts the drink to her lips. Mirroring her, they both sip from their respective glasses. Seeking out an exit, the entrance to the shady back stairs look like the best option.  

“We’ll see you guys later.” He doesn't ask for her input as he slides out of the booth, as it's an expectation at this point.  Rey follows behind him, grabbing her drink as she stands up.  A hint of a teeter in her calves, she regains and knocks more back as they start their walk.  Close together, he lets her go ahead again as they get into the crowded stairwell.

The debauchery was happening here, obvious by various people (he hopes they’re couples, but he doubts it) with their tongues down another’s throat.  Focusing on Rey’s back instead, he finally notices the _only_ tattoo she seems to have on her body: a sun eclipsing a moon, leaving a sliver of crescent behind.  Nothing like his inked skin, the intention not to hide tender or needle pocked flesh.

The crispness of the roof refreshes him when they reach it, empty and dark except for the glow from LA streetlights.  Nothing is bothering him here, not the itch to get a fix at the back of his head as he watches her stride to the middle of the roof.

She’s stopping to look at the view and he takes the opportunity to wander up behind her.  Arms wrap around her small waist from behind, head pushing into her neck. Not resisting him, she actually seems to approve as her fingers trace along the cherry blossom buds that hide in the ink on his forearm.  “You like it?”

Referring to many things, but he hopes she just takes it as the view.  “I do. You’re warm.” Kylo is hot-blooded, a personality definer from the beginning of puberty to now.

“You’re just cold.  Little ice queen.” Freezing him out of her bed, he expects to be an ice cube by the end of the night.

“One of your songs says ice queen.” So she did listen to the playlist.  Shocked but not willing to show it, he instead holds her tighter.

“I had to include just _one_.  You can’t blame me.” Pulling her closer to his body, making what he wants glaringly obvious.  There’s a slow grind against his thigh in response, and it’s the most he’s gotten from her since the video shoot.

“I promise I’ll be good to you, princess.”   _I won’t break your heart_ **_too_ ** _bad._

Turning in his grip, they’re eye to eye.  With a serious look on her face, Kylo is determined to hold his shit together.  “What do you want from me?”  What does he want from her?  He wants plenty, but he wants her on his mouth most of all.  

“To take you home.”

Her freckled nose emits a snort, “You’re just saying that.” Shaking his head again, he can’t believe Rey won’t give his soul the time of day.  He can’t fly off the handle, not now.

“I wouldn’t waste my time on you if I didn’t want you.  I move on easily.” Rey’s an itch he needs to be scratched, and he’s sure it’ll sate him when she caves.

Staring at him through thick black coated lashes, her gloss covered lips look extra kissable beneath the smoggy LA skies.  Instead, he opts to reach and push a strand of hair from her face.

“You’re a bad idea.”  Wasn’t that obvious? Didn’t he scream _a bad idea_ like a megaphone?  As if she were trying to make a point that he’s not aware of, a dismissive huff crosses his lips.

“Bad ideas and bad choices are apart of human existence.”  How poetic and stupid, he doesn’t bother to take it back as he reaches in his front pocket.  Fingers are finding purchase on an expertly rolled joint, it’s resting between his lips faster than you could say _dependency._

Twirling the black lighter between his fingers, he sparks the flame at the end of the paper.  Catching and letting the smoke flow into his mouth, no cough passes his lips as he blows a plume from his nose.  She’s watching him silently, probably trying to figure out _what_ he was.  Resembling a scientist poised at a petri dish, he doesn’t like the speculation.

“Want some?”  Maybe she’d loosen up and uncoil the spring in her ass.  Why else wouldn’t she be fucking him by now?

Shaking her head quickly, he can tell she’s out of her element as she stares at her feet.  More smoke flows from his mouth, walking past Rey to the very edge of the roof. Intended to draw her out, tempt her closer to the predator.

It works, hearing the hushed click of her heels across the concrete.  Not looking over, he taps the joint between his fingers to ash it. The burning ember catches the wind and drifts from the roof, his eyes following it until it fizzles out.  Delicate hands grab the sleeve of his shirt, tugging so it gets him to pivot to face her. Staring up at him with unreadable eyes, the tension begins to press down.

“I’m the best bad idea you can have.”

Food for thought for her, Rey only seems to digest for a second before her arms wrap around the back of his neck.  Pulling him down to a reachable level, her lips press against him and everything is dizzy. Gloss smears, large hands roam up and down across hips.  Fingers splayed across her slender back, he pulls her close to him.

Plush lips part beneath rough, tongues knocking and he feels her hands knot in his t-shirt.  Kissing her is better than he thought, and Kylo’s a goner as she pulls away.

A trail of spit webs between their lips, a mark of highly anticipated success.  Quietness holds between them for only a moment before, “I like that better than on set.”  Sheepish admission, he can’t help but let a laugh out. Only wanting to liplock more, he resists combing through the ends of her hair.

It’s warmer with her in his grasp, the surface of the sun competing with the dark side of the moon.  Need for balance, a stability, “Come home with me.”

Hesitation, “Now?”

Shaking his head and caging her even closer, pushing her into the hardness of his chest where he can loom.  Protect, ward away. “After the video premieres. I’m contractually obligated to be here.” Said with a pretty painted smile, he wishes he was kidding.  In reality, Kylo would rather be lobbing golf balls at an executive producer’s car. Each dent would represent each platinum hit he managed to earn _himself_.

“Contracts sound lame.”  Bringing the drink, somehow still in her grip, up to her lips to sip.  They are more than lame, Snoke essentially makes a cool fifty percent off of his ass.  Everything Kylo does, Snoke gets half. It wasn’t like he lived  _awful_ because of it.  In fact, he should _be grateful_ for this opportunity of making enough money to make a simple head spin.

This was an opportunity that almost killed him and had killed others before it.  The fear of sex, drugs, and rock and roll was entrenched deep in his family, Anakin setting the stigma.

Everyone believed Kylo was to follow Anakin’s destiny, expected him to follow it.  So he followed it. By pre-determination, by spite, he followed the trail to multiple forks of potential death.  Any naive and rebellious kid would, a proper raised senator’s son especially. Kylo was the one to drag himself off the path in the same stroke, still making increments of progress every day he lived without vices.  Far from perfect (plenty liked to remind him in a single breath), he’s just satisfied with being alive right now.

No contract can take his breathing away, even if it’s threatened to try.  World be damned if they believe they’re going to take it from him or take this picture perfect moment away.

“It’s really pretty up here.”  Whispering, her body adjusts closer to his.  The faint squeaking of latex as she does has him faintly smiling into the next kiss he gives her.  Kylo’s got  _the girl_ , but the question of the night is what to do with the girl.

He’s sure he could come up with something.

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Kylo didn’t unwind from Rey all night.

Not that she expected him to, he had seemingly given her the lock and key to his person.  Body especially, Rey becoming more comfortable with pushing her hand up the back of his shirt to glide over sculpted back muscles while he talked to many different artists, producers, and general celebrities.  She was getting a first-row view of the Hollywood side of music, the elite and talented and how they danced around each other. Or how Kylo _didn’t_ dance around others, he dominated them.  

The most interesting interaction to her, by far, was Poe Dameron.

Poe didn’t do music, Rey knowing him best from television.  Serial shows, his latest project being a biopic on Admiral Ackbar that made him an Oscar contender.  Rey had gotten the screener last week (perks of being in SAG), so it was almost a fish out of water moment to see him in person.

Of course, it wasn’t even notable for Kylo.  “How are you doing, Kylo?” Asked by Poe while holding his hand out, the noticeable flex of tattooed bicep around her shoulders. 

“How much did you make on that documentary of me?”

The documentary, she hates that it sticks in her head to review later.  Tension blooms up between them.  Poe begins shaking his head, “I did it for free-”

“Next time you want to speculate about my sobriety, make sure you come to me first.  I’d be glad to let you know that I’ve been clean for three years. For someone who preaches all about mental health and empathy, you really don’t fucking get it.”

Just like that, they’re walking away from him for some other group of people.  Something is thrumming in Kylo since that though, she can feel it in all his eye rolls.

Anger.  Obviously, he’s angry, Rey can tell as he introduces the video with white-hot ferocity.  _"This means a lot to me, so if you vultures want to pick it clean for whatever symbolism you can grasp, you can pick me clean too.  Enjoy the show.”_

Walking off the stage and throwing his arm back over her shoulder as the room darkens and the projector whirs.  Loud guitar blasts over the speakers, Rey unable to notice due to his lips pressing against hers. Pushing her against the wall, in turn, she’s kissing him with her back against the aged brick.  More preferable to watching herself on screen. Hands roam, across hips and under his shirt. Rey was going home with him and she was a goner because of it. They still kiss as the lights come up and the music turns back on, in their own world.   

A firm grasp on her ass, squeezing as he pulls his lips away from her to push kisses into her neck., “I can get the car to come around if you want.  If you’re done waiting.” More than tempting, she can’t help but push her delicate fingers through his hair before giving a nod.

Getting out his phone between them, she half watches him tap out a text. Eyes mostly focused on his pretty baby face, she’s committed to making the most out of this.  It wasn’t every day that you got to fuck someone as big as he was, literally and the cosmic sense. Everyone knew who Kylo Ren, and Rey would never know the feeling of being a household name.

But she can live it for a night, his hand pulling her away from the wall.  They were leaving, that much was clear as they weave through the crowd. Stopping at the coat check, she’s surprised when he hands over a ticket.  The starstruck girl (not more than 18) came back with a leather jacket, looking more luxe than Rey’s entire life. _Darkside_ is painted on the back of the leather, letters dripping and trademark red.  Messy, grungy, it was the ultimate rockstar move she’d seen from him so far.

Leather sits across her shoulders then, “It’s vegan leather and it’s cold out.”  It wasn’t cold out and she appreciated the light amount of animal activism, but the jacket is a brand on her.  Being tucked underneath his inked bicep qualifies also and they manage to duck out of the club without too many interferences.

Even then, the outside is full of the drunk, Ubers, and valet people.  Kylo is waiting for none of them, and it’s obvious he doesn't want to step off the curb due to the multitude of cameras on the other side of a confined area.  The space confines the press and paparazzi, he’s turning their backs towards them, just as the flash pops.

“This happens a lot?”  Trying to be funny, moody and mercurial only stares back at her.   A tremor of a shrug then rocks his shoulders, and his bad mood needs to turn around fast.  Only knowing one proven thing, her arms wrap around the back of his neck to jerk him gently down for a kiss.

It’s intended to consume him, working like a charm as he pushes her up against the black stone face of the building.  The darkness drifts from the exterior to the interior, and it polluted her much like his darkness did. Flashbulbs saturate the air, Rey in her own little world and with little care about most of the general public seeing her with a rockstar.

A horn honks, loud.  Lips breaking and raven hair whipping with head, a car is idling on the curb.  “Fucking-” Trailing off as he pulls her, Rey keeps her head down to combat with the temporary blindness incurred from the frenzy at their turn around.

Practically pushing her, he’s decent enough to open the door for her to climb in before him.

All bets are off when the door slams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took ages but as you can see, i went off. thank you to [Lissa](https://forceghostlissa.tumblr.com/) for the beta. thoughts and feelings welcome @ [dankobah](https://dankobah.tumblr.com/)
> 
> chapter title based off "the man" by the killers
> 
> fashion  
> [latex dress](https://drive.google.com/open?id=1xlXjZAMQ4PKg-F5sP6Xro79iAXlDjJJ-)


	5. oh girl, he'll help you understand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m going to destroy you.” A promise and she would normally adore it in any other case. Though Kylo isn’t in the realm of mere mortals, complicated and still holding something forty layers down.
> 
> Smiling as she deposits the joint between his own, “Not if what I have planned for you happens.” Bluffing, actresses are always the loveliest liars. In reality, Rey doesn’t know how she can get a 6’6 monster to submit.
> 
> There were only prayers and pixie dust and conceivably excessive force. His biceps make the completion of that last one very unlikely. 
> 
> **“You think I’m going to do what you want.”**

Kissing is more like biting with him, nails burrowing into the skin of her thighs as he yanks her onto his lap.  The car hasn’t even driven down the street that the club resides on and things are already progressing immediately.

Forcing her legs to straddle, his hand is attempting to roam underneath the skintight latex covering the tops of her thighs, halting due to the vacuum seal of the dress.   _Good, make him wait._ Their lips break to gasp for air, his hand stopping its ineffective attempts.  Instead, it opts to wind in the back of her hair to drag her head back.

Viewing her, “How do I get this off of you?”

Opening her mouth, he interrupts with a, “Now.”

Patience, as if the world didn’t already know how bossy he could be, isn’t his strongest trait.  There’s no easy way to get this off of her, that being the point of wearing it. Rey’s out to frustrate much as he frustrates her.  Petty, possibly, but it’s clearly working based on the gnawing of his lower lip. She wonders if he knew how lovely he looks, kindred with a big, black, and purring Panther.

Only now he’s hissing, “Tell me.”

A small smile cracking across her face, it’s hard to hold her dominant composure.  “Guess you’ll have to wait.” It feels so good to say and the reward of a pout is favoring saccharine.

An alternative to expectations, he looks past her.  “Speed.” Delivered to the driver, who she’s just now noting.   They were about to fuck in his backseat, the order of operations of this meeting entirely backward.

Kylo doesn’t even care, his hand letting go of her hair.  Previously perfectly styled (the latex and understated makeover courtesy of Jessika), she wonders if he even notes the price of beauty.  Pushing her tresses to the other side of her neck, it's so his lips can press paths across the skin.

Bare shoulder and clavicle follow under his lips, his silent work heats her skin like a furnace.  Kylo Ren appears to know _exactly_ what to do with women.  The element of surprise is left behind when she feels his hard length beneath her.  A quick roll of her hips makes his hands dig into her sides, effect duller by the squeak of the latex.

All of this a power play and Rey is determined to win; to be the girl that brings a mighty rockstar to his knees, to tell of this encounter like a story to the selected.  Lips part from her skin, big brown eyes staring up at her. Only the moon rewards him with a full look back, through the heavy window tint, illuminating one half of his face.

Light and dark, the former somewhere deep inside whereas the latter coats him in gasoline.  One match and she would truly see what exactly the darkness created. _Another_ joint comes up between them, moving between his lips.  Lighter comes up next, but not before she snatches it from his mouth and puts it between her swollen lips.  Gloss used to coat them, probably pushed and smeared into his own until ceased to exist.

Expecting a bite for the cardinal sin, a crack of a verbal whip to bring her to earth, the lighter flicks and lights the tip.  Inhaling, her smoke hazes between them. A small puff from his own lips, it dissipates.

“I’m going to _destroy_ you.”  A promise and she would normally adore it in any other case.  Though Kylo isn’t in the realm of mere mortals, complicated and still holding _something_ forty layers down.

Smiling as she deposits the joint between his own, “Not if what I have planned for you happens.”  Bluffing, actresses are always the loveliest liars. In reality, Rey doesn’t know how she can get a 6’6 monster to submit.

There were only prayers and pixie dust and conceivably excessive force.  The size of his biceps makes the completion of that last one very unlikely.  “You think I’m going to do what you want.”

Rey gets what she wants, no matter what.  “You always take, maybe I want to take too.”  A sharp retort, stamping his forehead with a big, fat _fuck you_.  Blinking in shock, his face melts into normal stoicism.  Kylo’s resting bitch face is in the running for a contest evidently, and he’s conquering.

The car passes a gate, her eyes trying to focus on the dark of the streets their wheels glide over.  Million dollar homes, extra gates blocking the driveways and even some call boxes enforcing the high order of "fuck off".  Society’s supposed elite live here, after all, the smell of vapidity thick in the air. Rey unquestionably serves a skinny soymilk triple shot for the species of over-consuming asshole that lives here.

Though Kylo Ren lives here and if anything he should be more insipid.  An unyielding drive of the Escalade up the hill, the night is quiet. Tranquil enough that she rolls the window down and perches up on his lap to watch the winding road whiz by.

It’s then that she begins the mental prep, the game plan.  Rey fancies herself good at games and she has to be if she has _any_ prayer.

The game starts when they stop beside a curb, his house understated and blending into the background like the rest of the houses on the street.  Dwarfing her apartment, she can’t help but stare as she slides out of the car after him.

Grey concrete and black roof, it exudes the rise of modern, less gregarious architecture in LA.  Tall trees flank to screen off his neighbors on either side, a fortress with easy street access. “Thanks, dude.  See you tomorrow at…” Leaning his body past the passenger window well, there’s not much spoken on the other end. Come to think of it, the driver hadn’t talked the entire drive.

Joint still dangling between his fingers, he’s scrolling through his phone for something pertinent as she holds her footing on the sloped pavement.  A fall would just look pitiful at this point and she’s extremely motivated to embarrass herself as little as possible. His memory is better off perceiving her as a sex goddess, something to be the conqueror.

“Twelve apparently.  Lucky me. Thanks again.”  Nonchalance in his voice, the still soundless driver must be someone close to him to earn that amount of comfort.  Joint falling back between his lips, he’s turning back towards her and slinging the leather jacket over his shoulder.  Taken off at some point in the car (she suspects it was when his hands were trying to grasp her neck), she wants it over her shoulders once more.

Instant good karma, he drapes the garment over them.  Fixing her hair, his arm also drapes loosely over her shoulder.  Moving her inside, she’s making sure to watch every step up the slate walkup.  Front door tucked away, keys are being fished out of the pocket of the jacket. The jacket just hits around the top of her derriere, pleasure in this truth evident by his quick squeeze of her left cheek.  Gone as soon as it happens, her body subconsciously tucks further into his side.

So solid and secure, his warmth radiates through the vintage cloth of his t-shirt.  Vader, an interesting choice for anyone but especially him. Maybe it’s a strategy to play off the infamy of family, a rock god grandfather that fell so fast from grace.

Her heels click in opposition to the heavy clunk of combat boots.  The house had to be worth more than both of her kidneys and it’s just at his whim.  Airy, the sweeping quartz tile shimmers beneath the low-lighting. His touch leaves her, leaving her standing in the even more vast living room.  A large black sectional dominates the space, the large television inset in granite in front of it.  Fireplace beneath it, she can imagine him stretching out on the couch at any free opportunity.  Perhaps with a guitar poised in his lap and it’s such a tantalizing thought that it has to vacate her head.

The room has been decorated by an interior designer, the evidence being the deep peacock of the modern armchairs poised on top of a grey rug.  Definitely not his choice colors and he’s turning left into what she assumes is a kitchen. Instead of following, she walks into the living room to gaze out the floor to ceiling glass windows.  No privacy here, she wonders what it’s like to live in a glass castle just waiting to be cracked.

Downtown Los Angeles looks far away here, in comparison to the club they came from.  Still smoggy, she questions if there was ever a time where the haze didn’t drape like a blanket.  A pool looks upon the view, lit a peppermint red. Four chaise lounges sit on a deck, and she wonders just how much he actually swam.

“Watch this.”  Getting her to look back, he’s setting down a glass water bottle on the table.  Eco-friendly too, she doubts he sorts his own recycling. Walking to the wall of glass, he’s wiping his hands on his jeans before cruising off to the left.  Hands gripping the edge of the pane, it’s a tug that sends the window to slide on a track.

Revealing an unobstructed outdoors to her, he looks back, “Cool, huh?”  He's obviously vying to impress, she gives him a small smile before strutting past him and into the midnight breeze.  It’s shocking real grass beneath the modular stone walkway that laps around the pool, feeling nice drifting over the top of her toes whenever she misses a step.  Instead of doing a full wander around, she plops down on a chaise and reaches for her heels. There’s no point in attempting to ignore the burn from lack of platform, she begins to free her ankle from the strap.

Not for long, Kylo dropping to his knees before her, despite the hard surface of the wood deck.  Lifting her leg into his lap, his backbone is hunching in a stiff way to do his own brand of removal.

Learning quick and playing by her rules, or so it would seem.  “Take it off.”

Demanding despite the obedience of his actions, she sits back on her elbows.  Legs spreading, it allows him an uninterrupted view of precisely what he’s been trying so hard to get.  Panties didn’t mesh beneath latex, so she’s been commando this entire evening.

Simulating a yawn, “When you get those off of my feet, you can take this off.”  Good luck to him, the latex is a bitch to remove. Jessika and Rose barely managed to get it on her at the beginning of the night and she’s anticipating the removal to leave her absolutely perspiring and coated in baby powder.  A shower is probably in order or a flying leap into the fire-engine pool, his patience determining which. No matter what, the film is coming off her skin.

Pulling her to stand and out of her thoughts, his hands are dragging the shoulder straps across her skin.  Skidding across sweat studded complexion, he’s regarding her along with every bit of progress he makes.

Salaciously staring up, he’s back on his knees, confining straps off her shoulders and the responsibility of yanking it off her body pops out from behind a curtain.  He’s strong but the trick to latex is wiggling out of it, not continuous tugging.

Chinese-finger-trapping her body is and will be the best decision she’ll make.  If only for the frustration building on his face or the tiny growls in his throat.  It’s home free after her hips, giving easy and the protective second skin is off. Naked on his deck, this position is more than compromising to an outside eye.

“Was that so hard?”  His hands leave her to dust the caked baby powder off on his jeans.  It's then that she takes her chance to fling herself into the pool. Breaking the deep end, her head nearly bobs below the surface before she narrowly keeps it afloat.  No use in drowning anymore than she already was.

He’s watching after her on the deck still, stoic reflecting on his face.  Shock tints his watch while mischief makes her own glow. Swimming to the closest edge, she’s posturing as a mermaid would, leaning on her elbows with her head cocking to the side.  

“Like it?”  Not kneeling, she expects him to get on her level.

Opting to answer alternatively, “It’s warm.”  She’ll give him that, he has a nice pool. Now he’s kneeling down, only on one knee.  Tentative on giving her more, she understands his hesitation on the subject of Rey ravaging him until there were only bones.

“Requirement for LA.”  A shrug hitting his shoulders, she still stares up at him.

“Sounds like a rich person specification.”  That earns a rare laugh from him, sugary as honey melting in tea.  Withdrawn from the air immediately after the utter, his face melts back to normal.

Reaching just under her chin to lift her head up, she lets him whereas any other man would earn a death glare.  “More like an, _I don’t like my spine freezing_ condition.  Cold hurts.”  Rey always forgot about the presence of a spinal injury, his normal mask suppressing pain along with turmoil.  Perhaps Kylo Ren didn’t feel anything, but she highly doubts it. If he feels something, he desires not to feel.  Robotic, it must be easier to bring forth anger when he actually wants to.

“You done?”  Jerking her out of her head, brows wrinkle.  Two could play that game, evident by how quickly she pushes herself out of the pool.  The air is crisp, grateful for the presence of towels sitting next to the chaise. Dark graphite, someone must’ve convinced him on a color other than onyx.

The bedroom she turns her head towards displays the pure obsession with the dark, remaining tenebrous in the glow of the pool illumining it.  What she can make out is black sheets and how he’s heading for it, another sliding pane effortlessly pushed to the side. Then he crosses the well, belt dropping as he meanders into what she assumes is a closet.

It’s time and Rey has no semblance of a plan.  Never known to be particularly cowardly, she musters a gasp for air and walks into the bedroom.  The window open, the breeze chills her skin. An audible slam in the closet, it gets her to stretch quickly on top of the sheets.

Ridiculously soft, if this is how aristocracy lives, she’s majorly missing out.  Getting on all fours, it’s so she can reach for the framed picture that she can’t make out.  His arms caging her thighs pull her back across the bed, knees slipping over the sheets.

Point one and the hunt is on as the front of his briefs rub against her.  Her lure had done its job after all.  Then his hand spans across her lower vertebrae, each notch waving with a rock against his thick length.  All of it, at least he isn’t overcompensating for anything.

Hand nestling inside of her hips, she doesn’t give him the opportunity to predictably tug.  Instead, she rises off her elbows and turns to face him in one easy movement that takes him by surprise.  Staring up at him, her fingers trace over the ink that coats his skin. Each swirl of a tattoo, the Japanese theme on his right arm entrancing her.  Intricate, little rivulets of disfigurement in his skin are left alone in her slow touch. Los Angeles let you know what those were and she’s sensitive to the lasting impression it’s made into most users.  “Lay down.” Not the semblance of a request from her lips, his hesitation earns her palm wrapping around his fabric covered cock. Eyes blowing wide, her teeth sink into the right Sabaac die nestled next to his hipbone in a ballsy response.  

Though he moves, laying down on the bed and kicking out his long legs in a flash.  One moment is needed to inhale before she starts her crawling up his thighs.  There's no hesitation as she’s rolling the briefs off his body, Rey knows how to please people.  This is a new minefield, a girl aspiring to gain power over someone who wants control over any situation. Usually so go with the flow, this will be a facet of her personality she never lets out.

Sex with someone?  It’s _okay_.

Sex with someone you loathe?  Wormholes presumably came out of nowhere in the nebula because of it.

“Let me touch you too.”

No answer as she adjusts to pull more hair back, then rolling her shoulders as she leans to kiss the head of his cock.  The silent shift allows her to press down on his thighs, locking him in place and into her open mouth. Groaning, his hips rock to try to coax more past her lips.

They only tease, black widow finally drawing an unsuspecting tarantula into her web.  Playing with her food, she lets her tongue flick over his slit to collect precome. He tastes so good, or she’s just too far down the rabbit hole to care.  Taking him into her mouth after a lick of her lips, her cheeks hollow around the head. Pleasure evident from the groan, her head bobs as she takes more than she previously thought possible in her mouth.

Edging him, her free hand leaving the base and coming to cradle his balls delicately.  Letting him think she was so subservient, so waiting and willing to let him “destroy” her, her eyes watch the tense of his abdominal muscles.

It’s only when his hand tries to wind in her hair that she employs good, old-fashioned _taunting_.  Lips moving off him, his head snaps up from against pillows.  A jerk of his wrist in her hair and her head doesn’t move. “Did you think you could touch me?”  Pulling her locks from his now lax grip, she shakes them out like a ruffled cat. Mouth slack, he has nothing to say to her.

Rey can give him plenty of syntax but she’s opting to press fluttery kisses into the insides of his thighs.  “What are you gonna do?” Sing-songy, eyes flitting back up to him as she presses a single kiss to his length that rewards her with a shudder through his body.

Hard face, he’s not giving her any material to taunt.  Shrugging, she sits up and cocks her head at him. “What a shame.  You said you were going to please me on set.” Calling back to a point of hate, her bottom lip is tantalizingly pulling between her teeth.  Or at least she hopes it’s hot, Rey’s not sure what he finds magnetic.

More stony silence and she goes for the kill.  Shifting off his legs, it’s a flip of her hair over her shoulder and hopping off the mattress.  Feet hit the hardwood and she’s wondering how she’s going to get home with no clothing. Icing him out, never speaking to him again for not playing along seems like the best outcome here.  

That was a story in itself, leaving Kylo Ren hard in bed.

That wasn’t his plan, silent as a shadow as he grabs just underneath her chin when she’s at the interior entrance into the bedroom.  Pushing her just up against the door, her breathing hitches as her face narrowly gets close to pressing into the dusky balsa wood.

“You want me to fucking _comply_?”  Pushing his free hand down the length of her body, it cups her sex.  Wet and wanting, she can’t help but rub herself against his palm to gain friction.  No response beyond that, she hopes to god this all goes the way she wants it to.

“I’ll fucking comply for you...if you let me ruin your mouth for talking back to me.”

 **Consent is sexy**.

He’s doing nothing more but cupping her.  Less than she had done to him, her eyes glare into the wood as she thinks.

“I don’t like people I don’t know coming in my mouth.”

That’s honest, extremely frank for their current predicament.  A self-respect thing and she can hear his breath hitch. “If that’s what you want, I have to say no.  I’m-”

“Please don’t apologize to me.  We don’t need to do that, I should be sorry.”

His tone and the absence of his hand underneath her jaw and between her legs has her skin flaring up.  A wanton shiver rock through her torso as he walks away, “Do you need clothing? What a stupid question, of course, you do-”

Is he really sending her home?  Turning to watch him, he’s clearly on the cusp of an eruption of anxiety as he rubs over his jaw and heads for the closet again.

“Kylo.”

It’s out of her mouth before she actually formulates what to say, his shuffle freezing.  His back is still to her, and she’s crossing the room to wrap her arms around his waist. Burying her head between his shoulder blades, it’s a futile effort to get him to stay on this earth.  Obviously mentally loose in the cosmos, she’s shushing into his skin.

“We can compromise, right?  Just because I don’t want to do that, doesn’t mean we can’t do anything.”  Hands skipping up and down his rib cage, he’s so horribly tense that she’s worrying she’s lost him.

Shuddering breath before, “Okay.”  At least they’re on the same page now and in a transparent consent situation.  Refusing to unwind from him, it forces him to turn in her arms to look down at her.  Before letting him revert back to anxiety, she jumps onto her tiptoes to attempt to kiss him.  Only reaching his chin, it’ll have to do.

“Can I ride you?  Please?” Still trying to maintain a semblance of power, it’s big puppy dog eyes up at him until he slowly nods his head.

“If I can eat you out first.”  Back in business, sulky is looking back at her.  There’s a taste of an upturn at the corners of his mouth, wanting the evidence of a smile imprinted on her instead.  The nearly dripping wetness hasn’t let up during their pause and neither has his own arousal.

“Yes.”  No sooner than she’s said it, she’s getting lifted off the floor.  Legs wrapping around his waist, it’s a short route to the bed where he all but throws her on her back.  Pushing her legs apart to earn a place to nestle himself, Kylo Ren is crawling between them like a tiger hunting for prey.

Striking with a long lick up her slit, her teeth clamp shut on the inside of her cheek at the sensitivity.  It’s been a while since someone’s given her head. Uncaring about neatness, his tongue swipes up the sides of her folds.  Arm coming to press across her stomach, she could care less about being held down when his mouth is doing that to her.

Kylo’s a sloppy eater, but his voracity makes the mess slicking across his lips and chin even prettier.  Dipping his tongue in and out of her, it’s _just_ enough for her stomach to tighten up and twist.  His mouth is off her then, edging as she did.

Not for long, index and middle finger coming to part her labia to lick deeper.  Thumb twists to rub her clit at the same time. His mouth is a gun and he’s got a bullet with her name on it.  His index finger shallowly pushing into her is the trigger pull, the sound of shock leaving her mouth only driving him further.  

Up to his knuckle, he takes his sweet time in opening her up for him.  Not like she would need any assistance for him, any ironclad pair of panties would be dissolved by the amount of wet between her legs.  Soaked and wanting for so long, getting even a little attention feels so luxurious. Nails rake down his back, unconscious and leaving crimson trails.

Two fingers then three have her back arching in little regard for the weight across her stomach.  His punishing rhythm has her at a knifepoint, seconds from teetering when she remembers she’s not _supposed_ to come, everything she’s worked for building to a heady moment of control.  

Kylo has other plans.

“You gonna come?”  Asking as if he could read her mind, his stare at her in the dark penetrates deep into her lungs.  Twisting roots in her brain, it's a wonder she has half a mind to shake her head in defiance.

“You don’t wanna come?”  Confusion coloring his tone, she’s shaking her head still.

How did one put this eloquently?

“Wanna come on your dick.”

 _There you go, Rey.  Perfect_.

He laughs at her and she bets she’s flushing as the seconds tick by.  His fingers slide out, leaving her deplorably empty. Tongue swiping over the digits, he’s licking them clean as he reaches into his bedside table.

Hand coming out with a familiar foil packet and she’s happy he’s smart in that regard.  Free of STDs and no illegitimate children, he’s doing better than most men without his status.  Protection is more vital the more your net worth climbs.  Her eyes watch him roll it onto himself. Expertly, but she won’t dwell on that little detail.

Instead, she’s sitting up and mentally preparing to sink onto him without splitting apart.  That’s going to be hard but Rey doesn’t know the outcome unless she tries.  It’s time to muster up anyways, watching him lay back against the pillows.

A prince of rock royalty, a halo of wild raven hair encircling his head.  Eyes only on her, he would need to be a no eye contact type for her to be comfortable with staring at his beautiful face during this.  Unlikely, given his clear love for emotional vulnerability that he didn’t have to reciprocate.  Kicking her legs to straddle, she’s shifting to prop her palms against the broad expanse of his chest.  It's untattooed, she wonders idly why he wouldn’t just go for the full neck ink already.

There’s little time to dwell as the tip of his cock taps on her entrance.  Positioning over him, her brain says a little prayer for the absolute carnal act she’s about to partake in with the entirely _wrong_ person.

Sinking, everything whites out as her body slows its take.  Automatically adjusting for the new and larger stretch she was currently trembling over,  “Oh, fuck…” He speaks before she can, her head nodding as she swallows and sinks as flush as she can get.

Overfull and definitely ready to burst apart at the seams, a moment of composure clicks by before her hips begin their slow roll.  Riding him like she’s done it often (she hasn’t at all), his sharp intakes of breath are so rewarding. His fingers splay out across her sides and rub a strip of skin beneath her navel.  

From there to her clit is one straight shot, her lip almost bleeding from the cut of her teeth.  Not coming before he does is a herculean effort. He has the same plan, mouth opening up.

“Look at how pretty you look riding my cock.  Look at you-”

Before she can actually realize what she’s doing, her hands fly to his throat and coil around the muscle.  Pressing down on his trachea, it silences him with a raspy gasp. “Shut the fuck up.” More pressure, speeding up and watching his eyes blow even wider.

“Stop fucking talking to me like I’m a good girl.”  Letting his windpipe free, his wheeze delights the lewd anger held in her spirit.  It’s not enough of a rattle to actually complete her goal.

“You think that you can _choke_ me-”

Hands enclosing again, it’s even a harder press down.  Rey’s never done this before, so green to the darker side of fucking someone.

“I can do whatever I fucking want to you because you fucking _like_ this.”  Any sane person would buck her off by now, or even knock the living daylights out of her.  Alternatively, he’s letting her, allowing his face to flame red from loss of inhalation.

Removal of her grip has him’s coughing before letting his hands squeeze her thighs in weak retort.  Resuming tight circles on her clit, he’s staying quiet like she’s demanded. Her back slopes and her lips push against his own soft ones to soothe his desperation. Rough from previous lip locks, it’s enough of a new sensation to make the quivering restart like a stalled engine.

Only this new brand of shaking doesn’t stop when she pulls away, strangling her lower belly and thrashing it like a bobblehead.  Equaling a bobblehead herself, her head is thrown back as moans she’s been suppressing plague her.  Falling down and down and down, sanity whizzes by with the new buck of his hips to meet her.  Slamming further into her, she’s unspooling and getting dragged behind a car.  Coming feels better than road rash, breathy whines leaving her mouth as her spine gives and slumps, letting him continue to thrust into her sensitivity.  

Using her flittering tightness, he grasps his own groaning release.  Nothing spills inside of her, she’s lucid enough to check for that as he pulls out of her.  A snap of a condom and he’s shifting out from under her.  Rey can’t even think about getting up right now, knowing she should definitely go and pee after sex.  Rey doesn’t want a UTI from him, a sick and very expensive parting gift.

The quiet is dense, pushing down on the bedroom as he’s leaving her to go into the closet.  Wanting to ask him to get her something to wear, she’s assuming that this is the kicking out part.

Until he’s coming back into the room and crawling into bed, wrenching her body closer to him to...spoon?  It’s not romantic spooning, more like a tight bear hug that she can’t escape from that forces her body to mold to his.

“I can go-”

“You’re staying right here.”

Not a question, only a demand as her eyebrows knit together.  

“I have to pee first.”

“You better come back then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bet you thought this wouldn't get updated! this thing is my baby and passion project and i'm so excited to bring another chapter! thank you to [Kristian](https://star-horse.tumblr.com/) for the beta and support. you can find me on [tumblr](https://dankobah.tumblr.com/).
> 
> chapter title inspired by "Smile Like You Mean It" by the Killers.
> 
> a refresher on the [latex dress](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1xlXjZAMQ4PKg-F5sP6Xro79iAXlDjJJ-/view?usp=sharing)


	6. it started out with a kiss, how did it end up like this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His eyes linger on her even when hers race away as she’s hoping the bloom of a flush isn’t so obvious on her chest. The sheets are so comfortable but the mood has to plunge at some point. She decides, despite the easy and unexpected calm, to drop the hammer. Self-sabotage is perpetually simple. “Can I borrow a shirt or something?” Likely a dress on her frame, he’s huge, she can exist without panties for an Uber ride.
> 
> More smoke breezes out of his mouth and he’s considering the sheets now. Another pause as he finishes the joint, reaching to put it out in an ashtray with obvious resistance in his torso. He’s more broken than she’s seen so far, rigidity and small winces rock his frame as he adjusts on his elbows. “No round two?”
> 
> Oh, this wasn’t his M.O according to the internet.

Her mouth tastes like paper towels.

Old ones to be specific, speckled with drops of whiskey and smelling God awful.  Her head pounds, black-coated eyelashes sticking together and making peeling her eyes open into a chore.

If in between her legs didn’t hurt, surprise would color her mind at her surroundings.  She feels her brow furrow towards the massive dark haired body that pins her down. Snoring away, Kylo Ren looks nicer in his sleep than any other time.

Her brain still aches, even more so as she lifts her head up to stare out the too-sunny window.  Rays reflect bounce off the pool and into her eyes, blinking and falling to lay back on her side so the rolls of nausea don’t lap against the shore.  Kylo’s heating her up like a furnace and she’s ready to crawl out of her skin just so she can get relief. The plan of the morning clouds behind her eyelids instead.

Find clothes, wash face, order an Uber.  These actions would be feasible if it weren’t for the intense fear of tiptoeing around a celebrity’s house during the day.  Or moving said celebrity off of her when she’d only fucked him only hours before. The timeline is airtight, her lower back coiled into a knot from riding him with voracity.  Rey’s at a crossroads, turning her head to glare into the clock that sits on the bedside table. Eight-thirty, much too early and far too adjacent to her shift at eleven-thirty.

A joint catches her eyes, on top of a post-it note.  Peeling the bright pink sticky, she holds it close to her face to read, being careful not to move the sleeping almost-toddler.

**Whoever wakes up first can have this.  My treat.**

Kylo is acting as if he’s being polite for allowing her a fair shot at a gram of marijuana wrapped up in some paper.  Never known to partake, she’s changing that by depositing the filter between her lips and reaching blindly for the lighter on the bedside table.

It’s a white lighter; lore swirls in her brain about the twenty-seven club as the top of the joint sparks and smoke floods her mouth.  Hacking as she exhales, his weight is squeezing her torso down until its painful. She’s trying not to drop ash on him on for the following few puffs. The smoke is dragging her skull back to clarity and a healthy rest.

Skin still flaming, it's time for him to get off of her.  A futile shove on his shoulder lets her know that it’s going to take more than that, not even shifting an inch.  Does he do this to everybody? Act like some clingy sloth baby? How sweet, she’d reflect if he wasn’t making her boil alive.  Alternatively she’s shoving harder, whine coming from her throat when he shifts only a little.

Politeness is now flying out the window and hitting the pavement with a bloody spray.  “Kylo.” She’s shaking his shoulder, nails digging into the muscle wrapped around the blade.  His head is pushing more into the crook of her neck and she wonders if he’s actually aware that they’re basically (gasp) cuddling.  

Pressing against him again, she’s making more progress on shedding him like a snake with skin.  She’s got him nearly off of her when he begins stirring and she grabs the still-lit joint from the nightstand to rest back between her lips.  He’s rolling and grumbling face first into the pillow while she inhales, unaware she’s even there. Or watching him.

Rey tests him in the only way she can infer.  Smoke trickles from her mouth to ghost along his bare back, smell following it.  She notices the large and dark scar cutting deep along a part of his spine then, a red and black Japanese dragon roping around a section of previously broken backbone.  His deltoid twitches, drawing attention to the claret scratch marks that rake across his pale skin.

He’s catching her off guard as he pushes onto his elbows, head lolling to the side to give her a sleepy stare-down.  Maybe he was trying to remember her name or her purpose in his bed. Though slow acknowledgment creeps onto his face before his hand darts out to grab the joint.  Done with it anyway, she watches his greedy inhale. Silence suspends between them, walking a perilous tightrope.

His eyes linger on her even when hers race away as she’s hoping the bloom of a flush isn’t so obvious on her chest.  The sheets are so comfortable but the mood has to plunge at some point. She decides, despite the easy and unexpected calm, to drop the hammer.  Self-sabotage is perpetually simple. “Can I borrow a shirt or something?” Likely a dress on her frame, he’s huge, she can exist without panties for an Uber ride.

More smoke breezes out of his mouth and he’s considering the sheets now.  Another pause as he finishes the joint, reaching to put it out in an ashtray with obvious resistance in his torso.  He’s more broken than she’s seen so far, rigidity and small winces rock his frame as he adjusts on his elbows. “No round two?”

Oh, this wasn’t his M.O according to the internet.  More tenderness is shocking from the likes of his privilege and status.  Also his tenacity, between her thighs throbbing once more. Abuse wasn’t in the cards and she’s shaking her head.  “I’m already sore.” She can grasp the millisecond of a pout before he’s nodding. He’s reserved again as he sits up fully now and she notices the boxer-briefs clinging to him.  Rey had to have dozed off before him if he’s got any sort of underwear on and rolled a joint. That’s a feat since Rey doesn’t sleep with other people in the same room as her, not until they’re fully dead to the world.

Something about him makes her gut turn, it’s to no fault of his own.  He’s rising out of the bed now and she wants to slide across the mattress to drag him back to her like a symbiote with her host.  Alternatively, she’s watching him retreat into the closet.

She counts the seconds that it takes for him to find an adequate t-shirt.  Thirty-five and he meanders out with a black tee in his fist. Stretching her hands for him to throw it, he closes the gap and gently lays it in her clutches.

She holds the t-shirt up to examine it, band unrecognizable to her arguably (in his eyes) plebeian music taste.  Brows furrow again before, “Senate, 1982 tour.” Mumbling it while standing over her, she’s a little spooked at his voice.  Not for long, skipping the t-shirt over the blooming fingertip bruises across her hips. That’s why she’s so sore, dark aubergine and verdure around the edges with specks of red.  He screwed her up.

“Figured you were looking for this too.”  He’s holding out her iPhone to her, only the case is not her squishy and three-dimensional dolphin one.  Instead, it’s just glossy black. Confusion colors her head and she’s glancing up at him.

A shrug, “I hated the case, so I gave you the one from my work phone.”  Two phones and she wonders if he thinks he’s so high and mighty (and has the authority) to do something like switching her aesthetic for her.  

“Where is it then?”  This is so stupid, so trivial, but it’s a boundary still and making her spiteful.  He’s shrugging again and walking away from her as she’s crawling across the bed like originally desired.  Anger instead of clinginess fills her limbs, grabbing the side waistband of his boxers and yanking him hard to come back to her.

Kylo complies with her demand and moves to stand before her.  She’s staring up before gritting through her teeth, “I want my case back.”

Before he can be witty back, “ **Now**.”  Murder is seeping from every single pore and there’s no way he can argue with her.

But he does.  “I’m doing you a service, baby-girl.”

He’s back with the pet names and her blood is almost boiling over the edges of the pot.  “Give it back.” Haunting warning ringing through her tone, her hands tremble when she’s upset and she’s surprised that her eyes aren’t watery yet.  

He pauses for too long and she’s getting up from the bed with an electrical shock to her limbs.  Rage presents fight or flight so intensely that she can’t breathe, and she’s not allowing herself the first one anymore.  Rey’s banking on fleeing, starting a walk out of there before ordering an Uber so she can get the fuck out of this immaculate hellhole.   

A drawer slams behind her and footfalls speed up before she’s getting pulled to turn around.  The phone case is thrust between them, in all of its squishy glory, she’s casting her lethal gaze up to his placating one.  Ripping it from his fingers, her phone is laying on the bed since she forgot to lug it with her. His face softens from annoyance to concern and a large hand cups along her jaw.  She‘s thinking about a rolling tide hitting a beach, a trick to make her look empty or transfixed in auditions or stoic in settings like these.

Thumb brushes along the hollow of her cheek and it’s too soft of a moment to share with an asshole with a ring through his septum.  But that asshole is the hottest asshole alive and her brain is fuzzy. “Thanks.” She’s mumbling, craning her neck up uncomfortably to speak to him.  This act was easier with heels.

Too intimate and she’s trying to step back while he’s hooking an arm around her waist to pull her to him.  Tug-of-war, sheer strength gives him an easy win as he stoops to kiss her. His lips are harsh and needy against her chapped ones and she’s dizzy again.  Mouth parting for him, she’s surprised when he restrains and pulls away.

“Thought you were too sore for another round.”  He’s mocking things she told him in confidence. Rey would jump his bones right here to prove him wrong if he wasn’t correct.  Holding off on that tempting little thought, she’s peering up at him through really cakey lashes. She needs to wash her face before she feels wholly human.

“Can I wash my face?”  Asking permission is a sound idea, to stay on his very mercurial good side.  His hands loosen and let go of her while nodding. Pointing to an inconspicuous door next to the opening for the closet, she gratefully nods her head at the guidance.  Shuffling away from him into the bathroom, she’s opening and pulling the door shut behind her. Dark tile and standing shower, she wonders where the tub would conceivably be.  That is until she turns away from the sink and a polished black _pool_ is there, ostentatious and definitely custom built.  His height requires special accommodations like that along with the large shower head inset into the ceiling.

She’s now fixating on her face and the fat hickeys across her chest in the large mirror hanging to the right sink on the vanity.  They’re angry and purple already and were going to last for weeks likely. “There should be makeup remover in the top left drawer!” He’s calling it from the other room, she’s grateful as the state of her face is cringe-worthy.  She looks fucking horrifying with smeared mascara, chapped and swollen lips, and caking up concealer. Before she knows it, she’s digging for the mythical makeup remover. Her hand wraps around the immaculate white bottle, turning it every which way to find the pump.

Instead, her reflection in the shiny plastic stares back at her, and she’s unscrewing the top despite the consequences of hearing an unknown piece of plastic snap.  She’s letting the white, syrupy liquid drip across her palm before rubbing it all over her face. The instructions are in French and completely unclear to her so she’s going with her gut.

Makeup begins to dissolve while delicate fingers rub at her eyes until the skin could flake off.  She’s turning the tap, head dipping and her hands splash the nearly scalding water across her face.  Cleanser washes down the drain, an amount probably equaling her rent for the month.

She’s combing through the ends of her ratty hair as she stands upright, glancing at the open medicine cabinet again.  There is anti-breakage serum next to a likewise expensive tub of moisturizer. Both products read French but at least the hair bottle has a tiny English translation.  Hair elastics sit on a shelf above and she plucks one to throw her hair into a bun. There was no saving her tresses from the dreaded sex hair and he would just have to part with an elastic.

Bypassing all other steps, she’s moving to shut the medicine cabinet before a neon orange prescription bottle catches her eye.  The temptation to look almost consumes her but all sense inside of her is telling her to _mind her fucking business_.  Closing the cabinet, she hears a slam across the house and now yelling.

There’s the Mt. Vesuvius she recognizes and she’s taking a moment for a silent prayer before leaving the bathroom.  After grabbing her phone and swapping out the cases, she tiptoes quietly down the windowed hallway. A kiss of fiery hair appears through the living room’s panel of glass, blonde revealing itself after.

“This is so fucking unnecessary!”

She skids to a halt on the hardwood and contemplates running outside and pitching herself over the fence.  Hux and Phasma were here, evident by the accents.

“Ren, we know Rey is here.  Where else would she be at nine in the morning after those candids?”  Hux’s tone is wrapped with disinterest. Rey’s breaking into a sweat at the mention of her and pictures in the same sentence.

What candids?  “I could go check your bed-”  Phasma speaking now, and there’s a slam of a glass on the counter that’s terrifyingly audible through the house.  She’s surprised she didn’t hear a pop and shatter after it.

“Get.  The. Fuck.  Out. Of. My.  House.”

Kylo is so quiet that she doesn’t know if she’s hearing it right, her feet begin to slide backward on the tile to the safety of the bedroom.  They would give up then, wouldn’t they?

Wrong.  She’s made a grave mistake by moving, underestimating the total transparency of the house and its walls of windows.  Hux can directly see her and the state of her just-fucked person, giving him crucial ammunition to paint both of their backs in gruesome blood.  “There she is.” He’s announcing it and if she could melt into a puddle of ice cream on this floor, she would. Hearing another slam of a cabinet and then another, she doesn’t want to be privy to the almost-tantrum Kylo is probably having.  

“Come here, Rey.”  Awful and menacing, his voice makes her legs carry her forward.  Into the lion’s den of his living room, the female of the pride is eyeing her with a sort of speculation.  Rey thought Phasma was on her side but loyalty apparently meant nothing in this house.

The slamming stops but it’s because he’s walking out into the living room with a bowl of cereal in his grasp.  Thrusting the black stoneware at her, who was she to refuse breakfast from someone who should be kicking her out right now.  He’s in the same position as her though, a lamb quivering in fear with the threat of fight or flight.

Wishing she could grow wings right now, she pulls the spoonful of cereal into her mouth and doesn’t speak.  “You two have seen the photos on TMZ right?” AKA the biggest scandal breakers in Los Angeles since they were constantly spinning tiny tricks and making under-table deals.  The website arguably invasive and trashy, Rey’s read it over a hot latte with bated breath to see how hard her elitist counterparts fall.

Now she’s the one slipping and slamming her head into the concrete, and Kylo is trying everything possible to put her brains back together.  “Leave it alone.” His growling is a warning and a solid indicator that he knows something is up.

She doesn’t know and she deserves to.  “No.” Answering despite his glaring, she can watch him release a breath along with his favorite choice of cuss word beneath his breath.  She’s ignoring him to take in the immediate Android being handed over to her.

One deep breath before looking at the screen, Rey doesn’t exactly know what to expect when she reads the headline.

**Kylo Ren and Video Actress Leave Video Release in Lip-Lock**

_Is this the next conquest for the rock star?  Known for tumultuous and explosive relationships, Kylo Ren has been spotted an actress from his latest video, Rey Niima, in a heated liplock that sources close to the lovebirds as “angry and steamy”.  Is this just another conquest for Kylo Ren or should we begin the wedding coverage now?_

_See the photos below, along with Kylo Ren’s recent exes._

The slideshow was sixteen pictures long but Rey can’t focus on the extent or the content of them.  Her near hyperventilation is only on her mind along with the sense of needing to keel over. To combat this she’s shoving another spoonful of cereal into her mouth and focusing on chewing.

“We just say that she’s nothing and move on.  I don’t see the huge deal about this.” _Nothing_. What a choice word for someone who barely knows her, let alone the likes of Kylo Ren.  If Rey was fifteen, she would have given him a bloody nose by now and two matching black eyes.  Instead, she’s twenty-one and has to remain so fucking calm that not even trauma surgeons can shake her.

Phasma continues to speak.  “You see, we could do that. Or-”

“Or what?”  Kylo snaps back, his eyes intense and menacing.  Rey can feel the intent to intimidate behind them but Hux and Phasma seem seasoned in his brand of brat.

Hux continues, “Or we can capitalize and fix your image.”

Fix your image.  Unsurprisingly, Kylo Ren’s persona needs a facelift more than Zsa-Zsa Gabor needs to supposedly go under the knife for.  He’s viscerally outraged now and she’s shoving more cornflakes down her throat so no one expects any sort of peep. “I don’t need a fucking tweak to my image.  I need everyone to leave me alone so I can make two more albums and get the fuck away from here.”

How honest of him and she wants to commend him for it.  The looks on both of their faces tell her that this isn’t new and she’s wondering why she hasn’t run out of the house yet.  She’s not tracking along with what this whole conversation is getting at.

“The public eats up a man in love.”

Oh.

They are not and never would be remotely in love.  This tryst was a one-time thing, it’s expected to be.  According to the internet, she should be out on the street at this point.  Alternatively she’s standing in his living room with a bowl of cornflakes and wearing his t-shirt as any comfortable girlfriend would be.  She’s a nobody in his gaze.

“Fuck you.”

He’s spitting it at them and she notes that he hasn’t looked at her once during this entire exchange until now.  His eyes on her are unreadable and his hands trembling uncontrollably.

“Rey, you’re an actress right?”  Phasma is looking at her after she speaks it and everything clicks hard into place.  Actress, love, a rockstar needing a better media presence.

Fake relationships in Hollywood aren’t so uncommon, Rey watching celebrity couples enter together in Starbucks to only stand ten feet apart in the store and order separately.  Bonus points if they were texting someone else or swiping on the newest socially elite dating app. It’s a part of the landscape seemingly, everything shiny and manufactured in the beautiful city of Los Angeles.

Gulping down another bite, she holds her composure.  “Yes. I don’t exactly know-”

Hux interrupts her, “Consider this, the both of you.”

“Consider getting out of my house.”  Kylo is standing with his arms crossed and she wishes she could cross the room to get under his arm like the night prior.  They are divided now.

Hux ignores him.  “We give Rey the connections and pay for the agents she needs to get her career started.  In exchange, you two go out twice a week together. Organized of course.”

This is exactly what she predicted earlier and she’s wanting to set the bowl down and run again.  “You have to be fucking-”

“I’m not finished, Ren.  Candids twice a week, mentions of each other in publications and interviews, and any major events, you two are stuck like glue.”

This is over-glorified babysitting at its peak and she’s ready to make excuses.  Kylo makes them first. “I’m on tour for the rest of the year in about three months and I’m not looking to waste my time with some up and coming-”

“I have a job and I don’t want to be seen with him.”

Two can play that game and his mouth shuts after she interrupts.  He can’t let anything go of course. “Oh sweetheart, without me you wouldn’t be seen.”

 **Ouch** and she wants to rip his pretty eyes out of their sockets and eat them.  Instead she claws for the jugular, “At least I’m not some toxic masculinity poster child with an ego the size of my ass.”

Quick to retort, “Looks like it would be small then, based on what I’m seeing.”

That’s the spark to the kindling and she’s throwing the bowl at him in a childish display of anger.  Watching him dodge the stoneware in spectacular fashion to shatter, she’s not finished with him. “Seemed to like this ass while you were grabbing it in front of your music overlords last night.”

“You break my bowl, you buy it.”

No one gives a fuck about his bowl and she’s ready to leave, unlocking her phone and trying to open Uber.  Reading a big and everlasting “connecting” screen, God would decide to fuck her now of all times.  She needs to get out of here.

“We’ll pay your living expenses for the length of the contract.  Ren, she’ll be going on tour with you.”

Rey looks up at that and stares Phasma down.  None of this could be real.

Kylo interrupts, “Oh, so she’d be having fun on tour with all her shit paid for.  What do I get? A big pat on the back?” He’s seething and it looks so beautiful.

Hux rolls his eyes at him before giving him attention.  “What do you want?”

What does Kylo Ren want?  It seems to be a mystery to him also, face looking shocked before blurring back to pensive.  A long pause holds, long enough for Rey to start shuffling her bare feet.

“I want seventy-five percent of all my earnings for these last two years.  And for people to stop checking my hotel room every fifteen minutes while I’m on tour, I’m not a psychiatric patient.”

The room is quiet then and Rey doesn’t want to stand here and speculate on what the last part of his request means.  Because, deep down, she knows what it means and she can see the flash of restrained sadness across his features. Then just like that, it’s gone.

“We’ll draw something up tonight and we’ll negotiate.  Does signing next week work? So you two can sleep on it.”  Phasma says, glossing over his demands with scary simplicity.  Kylo doesn’t respond, only nodding to himself. Rey wants to say it won’t work, that she typically has a shift in the mornings.  Though work wouldn’t matter if she has everything she needs to start in the roulette wheel that is Hollywood. She was another ball, rolling around and hoping to land on black.  Luck had everything to do with her success and maybe this was her fleeting caress of it.

Even when it comes in the form of the textbook definition of temperamental, his arms crossing over his chest and back turning to retreat to his kitchen.  She wants to say something, to pick his brain on what the fuck they were just proposed. “We’ll leave you two alone.” Hux still exudes contempt with every word he speaks and she knows that legally, she can’t lay a single hand on him.  Phasma turns with him and wanders out the front door that was also only glass.

Here they were, so visible, yet no one looking in has the faintest idea that they were not fated to be lovers.  Never fated to be anything more than a self-serving one night stand and his words still sting like a slap.

“Get a lawyer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am like...shamelessly in love with these two and excited to get into the real meat of the story. i hope you guys enjoyed and i am always looking for feedback on my [tumblr](https://dankobah.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/dankobah). thank you to my betas, [Kristian](https://star-horse.tumblr.com/) and [Carina](https://oxvnfree.tumblr.com/) for reading through this and giving amazing feedback. also a big thank you to [The Workshop](https://mrsvioletwrites.tumblr.com/post/179578240543/mrsviolentfrights-the-workshop-discord-server) for workshopping this until it can be the best thing it can be and cheering me on.
> 
> chapter title is (obviously) from "Mr. Brightside" by the Killers.


	7. gasoline, saccharine (i've got no reason for the state i'm in)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s too soft for sanity sometimes, holding the blunt out to her and looking her up and down. “You trying to match me?” Kylo has condensed his style down to a basic formula. Band tee, jeans, combat boots. Sunglasses if he wants to hide high eyes and some metal pierced into his face. It’s his septum today, silver and inconspicuous against his pale skin. 
> 
> Rey’s got everything but pants and metal and she’s flicking her hair over her shoulder to gaze at him once more. Fingers gingerly taking the blunt, “You’re my boyfriend, aren’t you?” Her voice is babyish mocking and the desired loathing rises in his chest. It fuels the primal need in him to conquer, the only way he’ll get through this night.
> 
> “For six months already, yeah. Doesn’t my girlfriend know that I’ll deck any man who looks at you-”
> 
> Her tongue is clicking and finger pushing to press against his lips as she breaks the seat boundary space they were maintaining. 
> 
> “Now now, we’re fixing your image. **Remember **?”****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its tag time!
> 
> please beware that in this chapter there is: implied/referenced drug abuse, drug use, implied eating disorder, weight talk, reference to cheating

He had indeed read the contract.

Unlike the contract that fucked his entire life and gave him only half of his earnings over a sick seven years, he made sure to read the whole document from top to bottom twice before having even a lawyer glance at it.  The lawyers paid for by First Order could very well fuck him out of a lot if they so desired.

So he made sure he knew the entire thing, cover to cover.

The arrangement is intricate but easy to follow.  Twice a week, Kylo and Rey are required to go out in public to a predetermined time and predetermined place.  They can’t just go out without warning Hux or Phasma, the essential key to this lock being paparazzi photographers to sell their images off to the gossip rags and hot-take websites that ruin his life on a deep and personal level.

Interviews and passing mentions to publications are expected if a question calls for it.  The comments always have to be positive and maybe even sappy on his end. He’s not sappy; he never would be, especially to the girl who was about to be using his shoulders to claw up to the top.  Sure, it’s a girl who he’s intensely sexually attracted to, but she’s going to push him away with a ten-foot pole because it’s the professional thing to do at this point.

He’s not known for acting while she is, stonewalling him as they sign their respective contracts across the table from each other.  She didn’t get a lawyer as he told her to, but her document is highlighted to the gills with a notebook next to it to read off her doubts and demands.  All educated and she fights them both on every single one.

Typically, she got what she wanted.  Kylo automatically gained his seventy-five percent upon the first read, and he wondered what Snoke thought about it.  Or more importantly, what Kylo would have to go beyond this babysitting job for that luxury allocated to him.

Her signature is in pink glitter pen whereas his in fountain black, and it reflects their thoughts and feelings about this entire thing like a blaring siren.  He can’t believe he was going to invite her back, maybe even take her on a fucking date. That’s not his modus operandi at all; he’s so foolish for thinking he could tolerate her for round two at some point.

Lighting the blunt that rests between his index and middle, the window lets the chilling breeze into the Cadillac.  The engine sits on idle while Chewie is playing some new game on his phone and ignoring all of his attempts at begging to abandon her here.  Kylo does not want to spend his night at some fashion designer’s soiree, especially Bazine’s.

He and Bazine have a deep history that goes back to twenty-five in Berlin with coke across her body.  After an explosive break-up at twenty-six, he had his first overdose. The cause could’ve been his lack of measuring how much fentanyl he could shove into his system to fill the gaps where sorrow was overflowing like a broken faucet.  No one knows. He can’t reflect on that part of his life for too long, or the itching comes back, and he doesn’t need it before a party.

Especially right before Bazine’s party, still a recreational coke user for all he knows.  “Honk the horn, so she hurries the fuck up.” Maybe that’s rude to ask, but he can’t dwell since the door to the building is opening and Rey is stepping out without the assistance of the horn.

She’s in his shirt that she left their one night stand in, fishnets crisscrossing over her thighs and leaving real pants to be desired.  Doc Martens stomp across the sidewalk and painted black nails wrench open the door. Rey looks visibly angry and annoyed, and he wants to ask why.

He doesn’t care why though, continuing his sulking with smoke pushing out of his nostrils like a cartoon bull.  She slides next to him with a long huff and adjusts the t-shirt while the car begins to move. “It’s cold out. You’ll need a jacket.”  Kylo isn’t interested in greeting her when they’re going to be spending the entire night together doing god knows what to each other.

Her winged jade eyes wheel to look at him, cherry red lip gloss immaculately applied.  Someone had to have done her makeup for her; there’s no way Rey could pull out the stops like this by herself.

He’s too soft for sanity sometimes, holding the blunt out to her and looking her up and down.  “You trying to match me?” Kylo has condensed his style down to a basic formula. Band tee, jeans, combat boots.  Sunglasses if he wants to hide high eyes and some metal pierced into his face. It’s his septum today, silver and inconspicuous against his pale skin.  

Rey’s got everything but pants and metal and she’s flicking her hair over her shoulder to gaze at him once more.  Fingers gingerly taking the blunt, “You’re my boyfriend, aren’t you?” Her voice is babyish mocking and the desired loathing rises in his chest.  It fuels the primal need in him to conquer, the only way he’ll get through this night.

“For six months already, yeah.  Doesn’t my girlfriend know that I’ll deck any man who looks at you-”

Her tongue is clicking and finger pushing to press against his lips as she breaks the seat boundary space they were maintaining.  “Now now, we’re fixing your image. Remember?”

Anger flares up, he swallows to keep it down.  “How’d we meet, baby.” Hate placed on the pet name, she’s snorting at him.

“Mutual friends.  I prefer babe if we're clear.”  How SoCal of her. The blunt is being deposited back between his bitten lips.  He’s inhaling, and his fingers come up to brush through the ends of her hair. Soft and silky, just how he likes it.

“It’s baby-girl or babe then.  Are you wearing panties this time?”  He wants to lift the t-shirt on her body to check, but he wants his face to remain bruise-free.  This arrangement had to keep going as painlessly as possible so he couldn’t fuck up now. Fucking up comes later, nearing month eleven of this year-long charade.

Her eyes are rolling, legs tucking up onto the leather seats to give him an uninterrupted view.  It’s a black thong, much to his delight. The image is fleeting as her legs plant back on the weatherproof floor mats.  “So why exactly are we going to this?”

Kylo didn’t know why they were going either, but he had some theories.  “Let me practice holding you, and I’ll tell you.”

Rey’s eyes narrow.  “You held me fine at your video release.”

Shaking his head at her, “No, this is girlfriend-hold.  That was groupie-hold.” Teeth are baring at him; she’s quietly seething in a fashion that rivals his.

“But I guess we’re going to start some media firestorm.  Kiss and stuff, basically confirm the existence of...Reylo.”  That last word is dripping with contempt, at the ship name that had been pre-determined on Twitter from a bunch of sixteen-year-old girls that can’t even get onto his bus.  She’s adjusting herself in her seat and looking at her phone screen. Kylo needs attention to feed on, and he’s shooting over the middle seat to get too close for comfort. And maybe to take a glance at her screen.

Nothing nefarious, only her emails.  The screen goes black and she’s putting her phone to the side, turning her head to look at him.  “Can I taste your lipgloss?” A better way to ask for her lips to part for his hungry ones.

Rey’s eyes dart away before falling back to her thighs.  “Your hands can’t go below my waist unless we’re on camera.”  That’s an odd rule but he shrugs to himself and grabs along her jaw.

“I might seem evil but we’re both in this purgatory together.  Sex might make it easier.” Sure, it would be more hate sex but it was sex.  Kylo isn’t allowed to fuck groupies anymore since Phasma banned that fun activity on this upcoming tour.  He’s “faithful” now, indebted to the palm of his hand in his eyes. Fucking Rey would be one person on a generally frequent basis.

Her head is shaking and her fingers mirror to grab along his jaw.  “You are evil and yes, we are, but I don’t want to do that right now.” She was right, the mood or setting not being right. She’d ride him on these seats in Los Angeles traffic someday, the window tint hiding her reddened cheeks from the palm of his hand.

There’s plenty he wants to do with Rey but good things came to those who wait.  “You have my back right?”

Vulnerability seeps between them from her question and his hand releases her jaw.  “As long as you have mine. I won’t protect you from doing dumb shit but I can prevent them from doing it to you.”  That’s enough softness he’ll give her tonight; he doesn’t want to be entirely unlike his stone-cold self.

Her gaze holds on him before she nods, pushing her body closer to him and nestling her head against his shoulder.  He allows her that one privilege in exchange for letting his hand rest comfortably on her thigh.

The rest of the drive is quiet, the calm before the brewing typhoon that they were walking headfirst into.  Aiming to jostle as little as possible, he’s fishing into the pocket of his jacket and pulling out a wrapped up cookie.  “What’s that?” Rey is peering over at the chocolate chip delicacy and he’s ripping the plastic and checking the dosage on the label.

“Edible.  Want some?”  It’s a hundred milligrams after all and he could very well demolish this thing by himself.  Rey shakes her head again and he bites into it.

Her expression is one of concern, even as he finishes it off and tosses the wrapper into the cup holders in front of their legs.  “Should I expect to peel you off the pavement in two hours?”

It makes him laugh for once.  “Nope, if anything I’ll get nice.”  Being too high made him giggly sometimes, the false endorphins and oxytocin popping happily like champagne and caviar dreams.  

Her hands fiddle with themselves and she’s anxious now.  He’ll leave it alone unless she begins to panic. Only then is Kylo morally required to keep prying eyes away.  Neither of them necessarily want to do something like fake a relationship, falsify a bond that’s truthfully hot and cold but they’re working with the cards dealt.

Rey wants to play the table and he wants to leave it.  Passing the torch, so to speak, is becoming the focus to their union.  The car begins to slow down and she’s squirming around with trembling fingers.  His hands are moving to grab hers, stilling their shuffling. “I’ve got you.”

Her breathing evens out and his matches hers in a moment of serene synchronicity - the car stops and his hand rakes through his hair in his brand of nervous. Chewie is getting out of the driver's side, engine sitting on idle as he loops around the car.

“Kiss me.”Her eyes are confused and he pulls her face close to his to press their lips together.  Sticky lipgloss transfers and the paparazzi convening outside of the car get their money shot of Kylo Ren kissing the video actress that the internet has been abuzz about.  Her lips open up beneath him and he needs to pull away before things get too heated.

Now his lips taste like cherries and he’s watching her steadily slide out of the car onto the previously rain-slicked pavement.  He slips out of the car himself, their twin combat boots astride.

They’re pretending from here on out and his task is to get her inside before the flashbulbs can steal her vision.  Throwing his arm over her shoulder, he pulls her tight to the side of his body as they cross the section of sidewalk before the entrance to the club.  Kylo has learned to co-exist with paparazzi after almost getting his ass sued out of oblivion for punching one and throwing his fancy camera at a moving car.  The photographer settled for an undisclosed sum and he got a simple slap on the wrist for the act. He’s not allowed to do such thing tonight, even when one nearly steps in front of Rey in their hunger to get a picture of her.

The headlines would paint the murderous glare that he throws out for the transgression as violent.  In reality, he’s only annoyed by the time they get to the bouncer posted outside of the doors with the list.  “Kylo Ren.”

He barks the golden ticket name, his attention then turning to Rey as flashbulbs pop across their backs.  Tall next to slight, Twitter is going to lose their minds over the height difference. Her eyes are glazed and she’s blinking to bring vision back presumably.  The darkness they are going to walk into should help her pupils dilate and allow her lungs a fleeting moment of expansion.

They’re waiting for the bouncer to flip through the list of names when he leans close to her ear.  “Everything you’ve ever wanted?”

Her head is shaking and she almost rubs at her eyes before he guides her wrist back to her side.  “Don’t smudge your eyeliner.” He knows how easy it is to smudge something that claims to be waterproof and he doesn’t want raccoon eyes for Rey tonight.  An ideal situation for her eyes running black should be while her throat chokes around his cock in the back of this club’s bathroom.

He can’t get hard in front of this many cameras and he’s thinking about the impending extinction of killer whales to bring the heat down.  “Go ahead.” The bouncer is opening the heavy industrial door, grating deep house music pumping at full volume inside the dingy club. Lights of all different colors whirl around them as he walks her inside, purple hitting the back of her fishnet-clad thighs and cementing an album art idea into his head.

Party vultures don’t immediately descend on them, it allows him to pull her in the direction of the bar.  The presence of a bar is for her benefit since she needs liquor to loosen up and make gooey eyes that turn his stomach with unknown anxiety.  Her eyes are everywhere else but him, pointing at the various people who pass them or try to talk to him specifically. Kylo never has time for anyone beyond the host at these types of soirees and he’s not ready to bring her into the grotto of Bazine just yet.  He’s not even prepared to tread in there after this long of no contact. He’s got a lot of hate in his heart for Bazine Netal. His blood needs to be at a simmer before he attempts to be civil.

“What do you drink?”  Yelling it over the din, he’s looking down at Rey while her head cranes up to gaze up at him.

Hesitating, “Um, anything works!  I don’t need to drink if it makes you-” He’s leaning down and slotting his lips against hers to shut her up.  Small fingers come to tangle in his hair and he wants to purr like a cat. Instead, he’s pulling away while gnawing on her bottom.  To look poutier, he rationalizes.

“I asked what you drank.”  Wiping his mouth as he leans away, more sticky lipgloss kisses the back of his knuckles.  

She looks so fuckable in the momentary glow of blue light before she burns fiery orange.  “Gin and tonic.” Her lips part salaciously and he’s pulling on her arm to get her out of the way of passing people.  It draws her closer to him, his thumb coming up to rub along her bottom lip.

“You stay right here, don’t make me lose you.”  It’s logically her fault if she decides to meander away.

Coquette eyes flutter to meet his and her head cocks.  “What if I get lost?”

Without hesitation, “Then I’ll have to find you.  And I’m sure you don’t want to be the meal tonight, baby-girl.”

She snorts, “Good point.  I’ll stay right here.” With one last tug on the edge of her hair, he departs and makes a beeline for the bar.  Being huge has its perks, like the ability to unabashedly hulk over the counter. Either the massive intimidation that seeps from every hair follicle or the all-black way of living gets immediate eyes on him from a very wary male bartender.  Shuffling over to greet him, he doesn’t like preamble.

“Gin and Tonic and ice water.”  He’s reaching for his wallet and the bartender is shaking his head and thrusting his finger at a menu that reads “open bar”.  Thank god for that luxury and he’s hanging back to check his phone.

Two messages sit on his home screen, standing out against the impersonal black wallpaper.  The first one is from Hux, asking to confirm their arrival at the party. It’s a group message with Rey, resembling what a family would do with each other.  Rey hasn’t replied yet. He’s holding off on it to read the next message.

Snoke reads on the top of the screen.

**Demo tracks and lyrics due in two months.  Don’t be late.**

Snoke never texts him unless it was to drill something in or drop a hammer.  This is a perfect display of the latter, advancing the deadline for album number seven so they could begin teasing it on tour in approximately three months now.  No one can make a good song in a compressed time frame, let alone an entire album worth.

Blood begins to boil, so much so that he nearly shatters the glass of the two drinks he grabs from the bartender.  His back decides to spasm then of all times, twisting up into an angry tight coil that makes his teeth grit in feral response.  Stiffly stalking away from the bar, he keeps his head down so he can control the watery anger that’s stinging his own black smudged eyes.  

No crying.  He’s only looking up to confirm that he’s heading towards Rey, towards safety that can keep him from shattering another phone screen and running to fuck all knows where.  “Here.” Holding out the drink to her, he’s taking long gulps from his glass of water to soothe his throat and chest. She’s looking up from her phone and at him, brows furrowing as she takes it.

“You alright?”

How can she tell?  His head is shaking before he can halt it and her fingers are spreading over his sides.  Kylo wants to leave now, go home or go to the recording studio. He can’t bring Rey to either of those places, the studio so sacred and his home a safety net where he can write in peace.

He needs to work; he needs to do so much right now.

Rey’s staying quiet and still holding him, drink abandoned off to the wayside.  His heart begins to slow, vision coming back around the edges and his tongue less thick.  She’s patient throughout the long pause, occasionally pushing hair from his face until normal function in his limbs comes back.

“Do you want to talk to me?”  Talking seems so hard right now and he’s shaking his head and sipping more water.  Rey’s head is shaking before she swipes her thumb along the cut of his jaw.

“Do you want to kiss me?”  

More than a kiss, he wants to rip her apart and ruin her.  Rip those little fishnets open and bury into her, choke her until her neck is black and blue.  But she’s Rey, his fake girlfriend and they’re out in public pretending otherwise. Instead, his hand is coming up to caress her throat.  So close to pressing his thumb down on her trachea, he’s kissing her instead and never stopping.

She tastes better than cocaine along his gums, more energizing and head clearing as his body begins to succumb to the amount THC in his system.  Practically dripping in the high, his lips slowly drift away as her shallow breathing fills the space between them. A lead weight pulls at his spine, it feels so fucking good and edges almost pain-free.

An ocean crashes behind his eyes and her own eyes hold on him.  That is until the straw consumes her attention. She needs to be fun for both of them and she looks a little hazy as her lips come away from the straw.  The glass is empty and she’s blinking a few times.

“Did you eat anything?”

It’s the first words he’s said in a solid fifteen minutes now and her mouth flips from open-mouthed shock into a sort of bashful grimace.  “Um...one slice of pizza.” He’s shaking his head to himself at her lack of eating and his brain is getting cloudier by the minute. Come to think of it; he’s getting hungry too.

“You wanna get tacos after this?  There’s this nice food truck near here.”  It’s his kind of dive, somewhere where he can sit on his car hood with a joint in hand and act normal.  The tacos are just a plus.

Her head begins to nod before she steps even closer to him.  “Can I have another drink?” Looking at the glass that lingers between them and he’s sinking further into the heaviness of his body.  He can’t even nod at her in response, thumb coming to rub along her lip again.

“I’ll get you water too.  Stay here.” She’s moving away from him and gone in a flash, disappearing into the crowd.  Kylo is alone now while leaning against the beam she had previously taken residence on and pushing his hand through his messy hair.

Maybe he’s too high or the anxiety about his impending forced creativity session is creeping into his brain space.  Perhaps he could get out of a few events with Rey or they could fake some semblance of a social media post. Phasma did put those on the table too, to drum up her Instagram follower count and give him exposure to “a new demographic”.  Kylo doesn’t make music for the teenage tweeny boppers that pose like Instagram girls with puffed up lips.

He doesn’t make music for anyone special, come to think of it, and he certainly doesn’t want to be some fucking heartthrob.

“God, you haven’t changed one bit.”  Audible over a break in the music, he turns around to greet none other than Aayla Secura.  A flash of blue pigtails and crisp white wings along her lashline, she also hasn’t changed at all - still trying to be a stuffy amount of raver girl.

Instead of answering, he opts to glare.  Aayla cocks her head at him, exuding the typical faux cutesiness that never worked on him.  “Bazine wants to see you.”

The reason why they were even there; it’d honestly slipped his mind during his kiss with Rey and it’s now screeching in front of him like Chewie’s insufferable tabby cat, Porg, did.  “Sounds good.” Evasiveness is the better tactic to take, especially to take his time getting Rey somewhere else, so she's not subjected to this fresh hell.

Aayla isn’t letting him leave, claws sinking into his neck and ripping.  “Your girlfriend is coming too. We’re upstairs.” Just like that, she’s walking away.

Realistically he could skip out but Bazine always seems to find a way to talk to who she wants.  Her natural magnetism is the only reason why he spoke to her: that and the primal need to fuck someone, anyone.

She’s a relic from a different life, an existence in a chained up box and left to rot.  Rey and Bazine couldn’t intermingle. Not because he held sympathy or care for either of the women but because Rey is young to Hollywood and Bazine is waiting to sink her teeth into her from the safety of their respective fashion industry.  Whether it's offering jobs, drugs, fame, Bazine always found a way to worm into you for her interests. Or she destroys you for fun, depending on her mercurial mood.

He needs to find Rey, now.  Every fear is hitting his head and cracking like a brick but he’s still pushing towards the bar.  She’s leaning on the bartop on her elbows, scrolling through her phone. Before he can process it, he’s coming up behind her and leaning to whisper in her ear.

“Please don’t be mad.”  That isn’t the wisest way to start a conversation with a fake-girlfriend, but he needs to be his usual blunt and honest self.  The fact that Rey doesn’t know they’re at a party that’s in honor of his ex-girlfriend is Hux and Phasma’s slight. Instead of answering him, her head is turning to the side and her ears face his lips now.

Whispering, “We have to say hi to my ex-girlfriend.”  That is a gross oversimplification of the complexity of the situation.

He adds information with a, “We didn’t have a good relationship or breakup.”  Her head turns forward as a gin and tonic slides onto the bar in front of her.  A water bottle is set next to it, more than he got with his measly glass of ice water.  Being a girl must have its selective perks like exceptional negotiation ability.

She turns to face him, her back against the lip of the counter.  “None of this is real. I think I can handle a bratty ex-girlfriend.”  There’s something off in her tone but he could be paranoid out of his mind.

“Bazine is different.  Please just let me do the talking.”  

“Like I would even speak to her.  Kylo, supposedly I’ve been with you for six months.  More than enough time to be falsely soothed by your frail faithfulness.”  What kind of assumption is that? He may have been an asshole on drugs, he’s a faithful asshole though.  Cheating isn’t something that crosses his mind whenever he sees a relationship. If anything, he tried hard to keep every romantic bond’s heart beating when it had been hemorrhaging.

“Fine.  Let’s go then.”  He’s snappy at her now due to her transgression and her eyes narrow before she tosses her hair over her shoulder and holds out the water bottle to him.  It’s a peace offering. Taking it from her hand, he twists the cap until the seal breaks and downs a solid fourth of the bottle in one long chug. They’re making eye contact as he does, lingering even after he wipes the droplets away from his mouth.  Grabbing her hand with no other preamble, he’s pulling her along with him as he marches on a conveyor belt to hell itself. The music is loud as they go up the stairs before she stops him, tugging on the back of his t-shirt so hard that he nearly stumbles.

“What-”  He starts, words breaking at her teeth sinking into the base of his throat.  Pain makes his brain white out and his fingers pull hard at her hair. Her lips detach with a yank on her head and he’s tugging her locks back to survey her.

“So that she knows who you belong to.”

His eyebrows raise at her quick and logical thinking, finger coming to touch the throbbing spot.  He bruises like a peach and comes off the stage with purple blooms along his ribs and legs from various bumps.  Performing is an entirely different high that suppresses his pain receptors on the top layer of his skin, compensating for intense aching and throbbing in his spine and shoulders when he gets off stage.  

Before he can reflect much longer on the point of stress, he’s being tugged on by her now.  He needs to catch up before she walks face first into a honey trap like a fly, pulling her back under his arm to appease and control the situation.  He takes the lead, past the speculative eyes of two men he doesn’t know. They don’t attempt to stop them, catching the size match up like the scent of gasoline.  Neither of them would’ve had a prayer.

Beneath the marijuana smoke and saccharine scent of vape liquid, he expects there to be a telling tang of sulfur.  Bazine sits like a queen, if Marie Antoinette had a portrait of doing cocaine. The powder sits in a thin little line on the back of her hand and his brain itches so very bad.

“Kylo!”

In typical Bazine fashion, her nose eats up the coke in a mere second.  The plane of her face, where brows are supposed to be, raise beneath unique blocky black eye makeup.  Everything about her is severe and harsh, mirroring him perfectly when they were together. The black lipstick of his nightmares opens again, “Do you want any?”

There’s painful gnawing at the back of his brain as he follows her gesture to look upon the coffee table that nestles itself between the loveseats.  White specks of dust coat it; a fan could blow away the precious and costly snow that ruined his life. More biting hits his brain but Rey’s hand spans across his back as she shifts even closer to him.

Kylo accommodates her, shutting his eyes and then opening them to look at the floor.  “We’re good. Happy Birthday.” Somehow he’s maintaining pleasantries, even in this pissed off and scared sober state.  

One more blink.  “Who’s we?”

Bazine likes to diminish people’s presences, her way of snubbing is just acting like the person is the equivalent of an imaginary friend.  He’s forcing himself to look up now, looking between Bazine and Rey. He can taste Rey’s apprehension in the wind of her fist in the back of his t-shirt.  Usually, he’d be up for the job of shielding someone; his body made such good food for shrapnel.

But she’s quick on the draw, holding out her hand to Bazine.  “I’m Rey. It’s nice to meet you.” There’s timid politeness in her tone, more than the snake deserves.  Bazine looks her up and down, then turns away and walks back to her throne.

Kylo thought Rey was cold, Bazine continues to take the cake.  “You sure you don’t want any? You used to love this stuff.” She’s goading him, pushing every single button.  He’s never going to give in.

“No.”

He keeps his tone firm and pulls Rey even closer to him.  “What about her?”

Rey’s not a fucking idiot to do such a thing around him. No one would be.  Only the girl in front of them would. Kylo has seen her every compromising position imaginable: blood trickling out of her nose, vomit dripping down her front, her pussy after he abused it within an inch of its life.  Their relationship had been built on abandonment and anger, drugs and the desire to die. No wonder they began to hate each other as they tormented each other. Honeymoon, then hurricane, then calm seas. Over and over, like a spinning wheel that eventually broke when he walked in on her and some male model.  Though he had been three Klonopin in at the time, he had the sense to almost beat the guy to death and ruin his pretty face forever.

Kylo would never resemble a male model.   Maybe that’s why it happened like that.

“She’s fine.”  He wants to leave now, feeling sober despite the amount of THC he ingested earlier.  Now he stares into her eyes, seeing right through the ghoulish white contacts and red rimming it like vines.  Even in this light, she’s aging before his eyes. Coke makes youthful faces crack like Death Valley.

Rey’s hands on him pull him to focus on something else, her touch.  The drum of her fingers along the dulled nerves of his lower back give him something to count.  A beat, one he can easily track to distract himself. Anything to keep from thinking about the temptations and libations in front of him.

He can’t trash three years of sobriety for old history.  “You look...hmph.” The pettiness and anger that permanently occupies his soul want to bite back with, “Like a monster?”  He remains quiet and only pushes hair from his face.

“Bigger.  Have you gained weight?”

The exact number of pounds that wrap his frame should never matter unless it’s someone as unhealthy as Bazine.  Perhaps she’s counting each walnut or hoping that someone would accept her into whatever model circle she’s trying to break in.

Maybe Kylo is heavier, but it’s much-needed sobriety weight and muscle that shows he’s surviving. Even perhaps thriving in some eyes. “Maybe.” There’s not much more he wants to say to her, and he needs space to breathe.

“Your girlfriend could use some coke.  She’s trembling like a leaf.”

His jaw sets and he snorts, shaking his head to himself.  “We both said no.”

Bazine huffs.  “Let her talk for herself, Ren.”  He looks to Rey now, who is visibly shivering beneath his arm.  He feels the pit in his stomach open wider and this is the worst situation to put someone new near.  This might be the business of being a celebrity, but she doesn’t need to learn it this fast.

“I want to go.”  Rey’s smart and she’s had enough.  He tightens his hold on her, nearly pressing into Rey’s throat as he stares at Bazine.  

The corners of his mouth turn up, near snarl, “We’re leaving now.  Happy birthday.”

The birthday girl looks as red as the tip of her nose then, walking quickly to almost barrel into him.  As if it were a natural reflex, he shoves Rey behind his back to shield her from whatever Bazine could be planning.

“You think you’re such hot shit since you got sober.  We all know its fucking fake.”

The smear documentary against him is being spat back into his face and it feels like the reignite of gasoline-soaked sheets.  Bazine doesn’t stop, “You don’t love anyone but yourself and this little slice of ass is gonna end up like every other girl. Used and alone.”

He refuses even to look her in the eye.  “Why? Because you think you’re better than everyone else.”

That’s when he finally looks down at her, fist tightening up at his side.  Kylo will never hit a girl, but he will punch anything when they get out of here to unleash all the anger stuffing itself into his veins.

“She’s not even pretty.”

That’s enough to get him to speak, just for the sheer fact that he’ll never tolerate someone bashing another’s appearance.  “Keep going.”

She falls silent as a shadow.  Maybe the masochist inside likes to hear about how he’s such a failure or how his fake girlfriend is ugly; perhaps its to give him song fodder.  “Come on. Anything to make your jealous little girl heart keep beating.”

Their eyes are locked, his chest refusing to rise and fall.  Then she turns away, shutting the door on the conversation in her avoiding way. “You’ll get yours someday.”

Without missing a beat, “Yeah?  Well, you will too.” Then he drops his arm from Rey to release her from his bruising grasp and begins to stalk away without a look back.  His fists tremble at his sides as his body stiffens up and a throbbing ricochets through each nerve.

It’s twenty steps before he finally stops for Rey’s sake, standing in the middle of a crowded stairwell to pray that his fake girlfriend is following him.  Sure enough, she comes into view with her long legs and loose combat boots. Then she walks past him without even a look and makes their plan abundantly clear.  They were leaving.  He can only catch up to her. His adrenals are still popped, winding down to make him a mess of anxiety by the time they get to the front lobby area of the club.  There are more lowlives here, only D-list vagrants that would flock like a moth to a flame if he doesn’t give a murderous sweep over the entire area and pull them into a tight corner.

Rey’s not even looking at him and if he knew he was going to be the bad guy again, he would’ve stayed home.  Let the girl go by herself and see how this limelight ladder works. She’s nothing, understands little about what happens when you get to his pedigree and infamy.  She’s a model from nowhere special.

Fuck every single person around him right now and he’s focusing down at his phone and ordering Chewie to pull the car around.  The type bubbles come up and then a thumbs up emoji shows on the screen. Chewie sometimes doesn’t text words back, even though Kylo knows about his prowess despite the muteness.  That’s when he finally gives Rey a look, her eyes cast down and he sees a glint of wetness on her top lashes.

She can’t cry.  Not right now, not in front of paparazzi.  Something inside him melts to putty; he loathes it.  “Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay.” The statement is also a reassurance to himself.  His hands involuntarily come up to attempt a cradle on her jaw.

They’re struck down by a slap on his wrist and he knows he’s lost her for tonight, green eyes looking everywhere but him.  His disappointment body count ticks up to one and he’s gotten the bonus of someone contractually obligated to be with him.

This year couldn’t end fast enough.

✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎

She doesn’t speak to Kylo the entire drive back to her apartment.

If Rey could sum up the events that just transpired, awkward and unnecessary would be two words to do so.  Fucked up would barrel after and everything in her head is becoming mush with anxiety and dread.

Everything is a blur from the first drink on, and the entire confrontation with Bazine is a nightmare come to fruition.  Rey felt as if she couldn’t breathe, watching herself from the outside of her body and hating every single word or moment of silence from her person.  Rey should’ve fought back, been just as catty; revert to high school behavior and call her a coked out slut. Alternatively, she had just stayed silent and meek.

Kylo didn’t do much to alleviate the shrapnel pulsing in her chest, shallow breaths rocking through her while he just sat there.  Stony-faced, uncaring as he stared out the window and she trembled with sniffles.

She all but rolled out of the car as it slowed to a stop in front of her shitty apartment complex that she was so excited to get her and Finn out of next month.  They got a place in central LA; anything is better than the hipster hellhole of Silver Lake. If it takes this degradation, she doesn’t know how much she wants the step up in her living situation.  She slams the car door behind her, cutting off a rumble that she can’t comprehend hearing. Then she crosses her arms over her chest, speeding into her apartment complex without much of a look back.

The walk through her hallways and up the stairs is a little stumbly, the alcohol zinging around her veins and making things feel very heavy.  Rey pounds on the shoddy front door and much to her delight, Finn opens it up with shaving cream across his chest and a razor in his other grip.  “Oh cool. I didn’t miss much.”

A weak laugh escapes as she walks past him while rubbing her eyelids and the rising tears away.  It feels so good, better than just letting the fat drops sit on the canopy of her waxy lashes. Black smears across her knuckles as she enters the kitchen and throws her phone on the counter.

“How’d it go, peanut?”  There’s trepidation in his voice as he leans in the archway.  Somehow, she’s filling up a pot of water and sliding it onto the stove, turning on the burner.

“Peachy.”  Rey can’t help her sarcasm or the angry throw of the macaroni box next to her phone.  Finn doesn’t even flinch.

Coming to rub his temples, “So where’s the boyfriend?”

Forcing a laugh, she can’t help the stream of forced air from her nostrils.  “He’s not my boyfriend.” Ripping at her fishnets, she pulls them off with her sneakers to clunk against the tile in the cramped kitchen.  Only the shirt remains on her frame while she begins to pace, willing the water to boil faster. Her anger builds with it.

Finn breaks the pause, “You know he’s allowed in the house-”

“Maybe I don’t fucking want him here!  Why would I want him anywhere?!” It’s a sharp snap from her lips that makes her come back and immediately regret shouting.  He stands there, passive while rubbing along his jawline.

She takes a long and cleansing breath.  “I’m sorry. It was just…” There’s no simple way to put how horrible it had been.  Kylo didn’t even defend her that well, not that she would expect it from him. They barely knew each other.  But they’re stuck to each other like a slow dissolving super glue. Rey wants to yank away at the risk of ripping off his skin but she’s legally fucked if she does.  Her phone vibrates then and she wants to throw it in the garbage.

She tries to ignore it in opt of Finn, who’s still staring at her with evident worry for her pissy attitude.  He speaks in a measured tone, “I was just saying.” Then he turns his back on her and walks away with a slam of the bathroom door.

“Fuck.”  She rubs along her forehead as she stomps her socked foot, phone beginning to ring now.  Without glancing at the caller ID, she answers the phone and shoves it against her ear with an edged, “What.”

There’s a deep breath and Rey’s about to apologize and say hello before, “You left your lipgloss in my car.”

The deep timbre is even more gravelly over the crackle of the connection.  Damn lousy service, and fuck Kylo for thinking she would even attempt to worry about it.  “I don’t care. Keep it.”

Maybe she’s petty but who gives a single shit about something like that?  “I can come to give it back.” Somehow he refrains from growling it at her unlike he usually does with any request.

She can’t hold back her snarl, “Keep it, I bet you can jack off to the smell.”

Vulgarity earns her a sharp inhale, and she smiles at herself in the reflection of the archaic microwave. “I would skin a tiger before thinking about fucking you now.”  

“Why don’t you?”  Rey can throw barbs all day if you slight her enough and Kylo Ren has no idea what he’s getting himself into.

“Fine, maybe I will.”

“Yeah?  Fuck you.”  The words come out before she can tame them.  Her hand covers her mouth.

There’s a long pause while she considers calling a truce.  “Fuck you.”

It blindsides her, and her throat reignites.  “Fuck you.”  
  
“Fuck you.”  
  
“No, fuck you.”  
  
**“Fuck you.”‘**  
_  
_ _“Fuck you.”_

The childish sparring ends when she slams on the end button and cuts the call mid-retort from his party.  Then she hastily powers it down before another call can come in. Technologic serenity is more desirable than the wrath of Hades.

If she hadn’t gone out, she wouldn’t be drunk and would be cementing sides in her brain to read tomorrow.  She’s going to have to scramble because of Kylo Ren.

It begins to sink in then.

A year is a very, very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im not avoiding christmas stuff, what are you talking about? this fic is kinda like my therapy piece so this chapter was a delight to write. i finally set a chapter count for this so yay. 
> 
> as always, thank u to [ Carina ](https://twitter.com/oxvnfree) for the beta, she's like one of my favorite people btw and is a joy to work with so give her pop-punk peter parker ass a follow.
> 
> thoughts and feelings are welcome @ [ twitter ](https://twitter.com/dankobah) and [ tumblr ](https://dankobah.tumblr.com/)
> 
> chapter title is inspired by ["i know what i am" by band of skulls](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h34qWeettkU)


	8. what's in the water? are you bothered?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you need someone to tell you that you aren’t a god? Because you aren’t.” She stares at his profile, the sharp cut of his jaw or the way it shifts beneath the skin. 
> 
> “Easy for a goddess to say.”
> 
> **“Flattery won’t get you far, Ren.” ******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Tags, oh the tags: ** ********  
> drug use, mention of drug overdose and addiction  
>  foul language  
> domestic violence mention  
> talking about past sexual partners  
> general Kylo assholery x10,000,000  
> chronic pain  
> food  
> familial angst  
> satanic stuff (this fucking list has me cracking up)

**Kylo Ren and Rey Niima are very, very official.**

_The biggest shock in the rock community is now real, Kylo Ren is a taken man!  Known for his party and playboy antics, it looks like the rock prince has decided to settle down with the video actress in his recent music video, Come on Over.  A source confirmed the lovebirds_ **_exclusively_ ** _to JustJared and added a, “They've been together for six months and they’re absolutely crazy for each other.”  Cheers to the happy couple and everyone take your bets on how long Reylo will last below._

Hux clicks out of the window, the projector screen displaying the stock-standard Windows background.  Then he turns to look at the two of them, satisfied smile sitting on his face. As always, it makes Kylo’s blood turn to ice cubes.

He feels like death warmed up, dark circles resembling bruises than only a tint.  Staying awake for twenty-eight hours straight is never something he likes to do, especially after sleeping so poorly the rest of the week.  At this level of delirious, he gets to the point of doing something either fucked-up or stupid. The last time it had been keying Hux’s car and taking a bat to his windshield, only to pay for a fresh paint job and new glass two days later when he got tired of the wailing about it.

He seems to be more creative while sleep deprived (or everything is just better in the haze).  His body hurts more, sitting rigidly in his chair with a row of goopy icy-hot patches along his spine.  Stacked one on top of the other, they do little to soothe the sharp pangs and dull aches that accompany his daily life.  The pain would stick around for the rest of his days. Could anyone have blamed him for going off the deep end into drugs like heroin or oxy?  At least he could slightly function on those. All rational thought has seemed to leave with sleep deprivation, focusing his attention on the girl who sits beside him; rather than temptations.

She’s dressed better than his sweats and sleeveless muscle tank, sitting pretty in a white tee and baggy jeans.  Rey doesn’t even pay him a look back. They haven’t spoken since Bazine’s party, a whole ninety-six hours zooming by until now.  He regrets the fight, not what he said. Kylo just wants any hint of conversation at this point, to ease and placate his worry that she’s going to slip poison into his water whenever he looks away.

Kylo likes being on even standing, especially a girl he’s bound to for the near future.  Thankfully she speaks before he does, filling the tense silence. “Is that good?” Hux seems pleased by human interaction and adjusts the collar of his dress shirt.

“It’s fantastic.”  An arguable point but Kylo shuts his mouth and stares at the glass of the conference table at his beat-up Vans.  

He zones out for a bit, mind falling blank as he stares at them and continues counting the laces on an eight-count beat. “Kylo.”

He looks up and looks between both Hux and Rey.  They stare at him expectantly and he clears his throat to buy himself time.  There’s no response that he can give besides, “Can I go home now?” Maybe he could crawl into bed for three hours before turning his attention back on writing.  Or throw the tennis ball against the window in his bedroom. Both options sound delightful, both equally unproductive than the other.

Hux pinches the bridge of his nose.  “You two have an album release to go to later tonight.  Also two social posts, now that Rey’s Instagram is scrubbed.”  Only Kylo notices the downturn of her lips and a small sniffle. The price of being famous is a curated social media personality.  You have to be brand-friendly unless you're him. No one will be able to clean up his (probably) pretentious Instagram in a lifetime.

An album release is the last thing he wants to go to.  He decides to bargain, ”Can I just take her to dinner? There's no album ponied by First Order that I care about.”  Kylo knew the lineup this quarter and Rey could possibly speak to him again over food.

Hux surveys both of them before snorting.  ”Sure. Let me know so I can call the photographers.”  Kylo can't help his eye-roll as he pushes himself to stand and bumps the sunglasses back over his eyes.

”Aye aye captain.”  Grabbing his hoodie off the back of his chair, he pulls it on and shakes out his hair.  He’s buying some time to wait for Rey, who’s shouldering her purse and walking out with a blistering pace.

His strides are longer so he catches up in the hall.  He breaks the no-contact first. “I’ll pick you up at 4:30?”  Going early is the only way to beat worse traffic.

She continues walking like she hadn’t heard him.  That reignites his blood and he continues to follow.  “I can drive you home. Or-“

“Fuck off.”

The first words spoken to him are expletives.  He begins to shake his head and walks past her.  There’s no way he can handle this in a civilized manner, so he promptly shuts his mouth.  He’s definitely taking a coma nap when he gets home, hopefully sleeping through the night and stranding her to drum up her own PR.

Once they hit the tile of the lobby, he hears the squeak of her sneakers behind him.  “Kylo.”

That’s when he snaps, like a frayed rope holding a climber.  “Oh, now you want to speak. That’s so fucking cute of you Rey.” His no-sleep clock has ticked up to twenty-nine and he feels it behind his eyes.

She grabs across his bicep and he doesn’t possess the energy to lightly shake her off.  He keeps his back to her instead, fishing out his phone to call Chewie to get him out of here.  “When’s the last time you slept?” Does he really look that strung out? He avoids the question with silence, tapping out the standard “please come get me from this fresh hell” text.  Then he settles it back in his pocket and shuts his eyes for a moment of clarity and mini-rest.

“We can go whenever you want tonight, but can you go to bed for a bit?  Please?” A thought of defying her flits away as soon as it comes. Kylo will take any semblance of care he can get right now, wanting to be nursed into oblivion.  If only Snoke could see him right now, wanting affection like a frail baby bird. The man would at least give the mercy of a shove out of the nest.

Kylo pauses longer and, surprisingly, considers his options here.  He could go home alone and pass out, only to have to get up in three hours to go pick her up.  Or there’s the logistically sound option that twirls in his foggy brain: bring her home with him and pass out.

“Come home with me.”

It’s out of his mouth before he can dream about holding it back,  Glad that he can’t see her face, he looks back down at his phone for something to do.  There’s hesitation, “I’m not going to have-”

He interrupts, “I don’t want to.  I want to sleep for longer and go to dinner later, not go get you in Silverlake.”  He wants to fuck her again, most likely when she doesn’t want him to eat a bowl of rocks.  This plan is practical and it’s the only merit he can sell. Not that he wants company.

He would never dare to ask as a real boyfriend would.  

“Okay.”

Thank the heavens above that she’s pushing their mutual irritation aside for this.  “Did you bring a car?” The thing wouldn’t get stolen overnight, especially in WeHo.  

“No.  I took an Uber.”  He turns to face her, waiting for Chewie to text him back.  Up close, Rey’s wearing mascara and practically glowing, her hair pulled into a half-up-half-down bun.  She’s really pretty, even under the harsh fluorescents in the waiting room.

“What did you do today?”

He’s never been one for pleasantries but Rey’s life suddenly piques his interest.  They really have an unbalanced knowledge of each other. Kylo will probably forget most of what she says but there’s no harm in trying.  She twists a lock of her hair and looks at her feet. “Acting class this morning and then an audition down the street from here.”

Riveting.  He nods anyway.  “Do you think you did well?”  Knowledge of being an actor isn’t his top priority in this world.  

Rey shrugs and a blush blooms across her cheeks.  “It’s my second one with them. They might like me enough to cast me?”

Everyone is an actor in LA but he finds her hope refreshing.  “What’s it for?” _Where is Chewie?_

“Kind of a small role on a TV show.  One of those sitcom things.”

He doesn’t beat around the bush.  “You could do better.” Sitcoms aren’t acceptable for anyone, let alone someone with Rey’s social standing now: a hot new girlfriend, an accessory to him.  Sitcoms wouldn’t help her get out of that confinement and allow the spread of wings.

“It’s the only jobs I can really get right now-”

Kylo shakes his head.  “Beckett is doing a short film, real indie type thing.  He wouldn’t shut the fuck up about it on set, so email him and see if you could set up an audition.”  He had been offered a role on it, for some indiscernible reason.  Kylo thinks acting is soulless so he immediately turned it down.

She blinks a couple hundred times and his phone vibrates.  Glancing at the screen, he sees a simple: **Outside**.  “Sans agent.  Show you got some nerves and you can book your own shit.”  Kylo assumes that Beckett is the type who likes his balls busted and to be surprised.  He turns and finally walks outside to the Escalade that idles in the loading zone. It’s a bright day, rays glinting off the sidewalk and into his sunglasses.  

There’s only hope that Rey follows as he shoulders into the car and on his respective side.  His head lolls against the window, just to rest his eyes. The squeak of leather tells him that she’s graced him with her presence.  “Home.” There’s no question, only a grumble of the word as he feels the car move. His house is only fifteen minutes away on a good day.  Traffic always graces his presence; today is no exception.

“I don’t have an outfit if we go out tonight.”

Kylo can’t help his snort, lifting his lead head and taking off his sunglasses.  He doesn’t care about the strung-out appearance. “Who cares.”

Her mouth parts and his hand rubs across his forehead.  Maybe he could be nicer but he doesn’t want to make the effort at this current moment.  So he grumbles, “You’ll figure it out. Chewie will drive you anywhere you want while I’m in a coma.”

Rey looks to Chewie and then back to him.  Then she pulls her headphones out of her bag and plugs them into her phone to signify the end of the conversation.

Good.

Kylo wants to sleep anyway.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Having free reign of a celebrity’s house is triple the amount of terrifying she’d expect.

Kylo, after napping in the car for forty-five minutes, had stumbled inside and flopped into bed with a, “Do whatever you want.  Wake me up when you’re hungry if I’m not up.” There’s a lack of care while it’s said that really grates her; especially when the door slams shut.  Rey supposes she can’t necessarily blame him for that brand of anti-social. He looks like he’d been dragged behind a car or lost to a prize-winning silverback gorilla.  Not to mention his unusual apathy mingling with a bitterness akin to almonds. Instead of a raging forest fire, a tepid cup of tea slumbers in the other room.

After sitting on the couch for a paralyzing and utterly boring thirty minutes, she decides to just relax and see if she could think of an outfit to grab.  Every store on Melrose are labels that she models for in her dreams. Now she can afford something of the sort, the weighty black card burning a hole in her purse.  

She needs to formulate a style presence, a persona for herself, and she’s at a loss of what to do.  Model-off-duty looks different from the young actress, and both look nothing like the trendy athleisure that plagues every LA girl in a three-mile radius.  Rey has to be unique, fashion-forward. For someone who really adores jeans and t-shirts, the task sounds daunting.

She paces the living room to think, occasionally opening up her Instagram and scrolling through her feed.  Half of the accounts are people she doesn’t recognize or people she could care less for.

Uncaring if she asks it aloud, “What would Qi’ra Bashee do?”  Her head racks over the supermodel’s style over her heartbreakingly short career.  After a scandal with Dryden Voss, a “happily” married music executive, Qi’ra had flown off the radar.  Some speculate that she died but supermodels like her have every resource at their disposal if they snap their fingers.  Qi’ra is somewhere far away, where no one can bother her. The woman is known for capes but no dinner with Kylo would call for the luxury of a cape.  Underneath the capes were mini-dresses, and occasionally a fox fur coat sat on her shoulders. Rey can’t even begin think about real fur without shuddering, looking back down at herself.  Her current outfit is too basic, Rey needs something else that reeks her own personal taste.

“Think Rey, think.”  There’s no need to compliment her faux lover in fashion, even though Twitter had exploded about a band tee on her body that’s too many sizes big.  She needs an air of individuality apart from him; Kylo Ren may be a booster seat to the stars but she will certainly not live under his thumb.

Never.

Chewie’s number is programmed into her phone; his driving services is a luxury she’s been allotted by First Order and given the _approval_ to use from Kylo.  Her trembling fingers type out a text in the empty thread.

_Hi Chewie, it’s Rey.  Could you drop me off at Melrose Place?  If it’s convenient of course._

Politeness is her strength, even when she’s scared of expected rejection.  Her phone vibrates almost immediately.

**Ten minutes.  I have your # saved**

It’s not a refusal but it’s not sunshiney polite.  Perhaps he had to be tougher to deal with Kylo and his antics.  She rifles through her purse for chapstick, slathering it on her lips while she waits impatiently.

After an exact ten minutes, her phone vibrates and she stands up to pad outside.  The car idles with a rumble as she crawls into the back seat.  Usually, she would hop into the passenger side but something tells her that Chewie wouldn’t be amused.

The destination is already pulled up on the GPS and the car jumps forward.  Silence blankets over the drive, the winding hill feeling so long while she submerges in her head once again.

Dinner out is going to feel like a real date, crossing every single emotional boundary she’s thrown down between them.  Superficiality while faking substance is a learned art. Kylo Ren will never dig into her skin, read her brain like he practiced with most in a room.

She’s stronger than him.

The car slows, her mind zoning back into the now and the new confidence she’s scrounged.  “I’ll text you when I’m done?”

When she receives a nod back, she knows she’s going to have to get more used to the non-verbal thing.  Melrose is bustling but her destination is the Reformation store. Carbon copy girls litter the inside and Rey makes sure to stay under the radar as she drifts from rack to rack.  

One of the first things that catch her eye is a mini dress with scandalous shortness.  There’s still faux modesty with a high neck, but her eyes are more drawn to the print; several black and white comic panels with pops of colors and various caricatures of girls.  Her favorite depiction is the girl with her gaze turned up to a man while she says, _“Honey...loving the kitty doesn’t mean you own her.”_

It’s perfect and it fits like a dream.  Maybe it’s sexier than what she would do daily but she can wear whatever she wants now.  She blocks out the total when the bored sales associate rings it up, collecting her bag and hightailing it out of there.  Shoes and a lipstick are next on the agenda.

Marc Jacobs snatches responsibility for the plan, along with her sanity.  Next thing she knows, she’s walking out of the store with four hundred and seventy-five dollar heeled “hiking” boots.  Maybe there’s only one congruent couple theme she could keep, killer boots being one thing she knows to look fantastic.  A lipstick also left with her, an inconspicuous brown nude that could fade in the background.

She texts Chewie before she can spend more money.  Then she stands on the curb like an idiot for five whole minutes before he pulls up.  They shoot off again with little disruption to traffic, and somehow he pulls an impressive u-turn to head back Kylo’s way.

She’s beginning to get hungry but she doesn’t want to be the one to wake up the beast.  Rey only knows him to be a demon in any situation that inconveniences him. A fleeting thought of dumping ice water on him makes her smile for a second.

The upturn fades as Chewie slows to a stop outside of the concrete contemporary lair that something scary slept in.  “Thanks.” Maybe she’d suggest driving themselves so the guy could have a break. The house is darker when she shuffles inside, the sun dwindling down over Los Angeles.  She takes a moment to watch it with crossed arms, before starting the work of getting ready.

Luckily there’s not too much to do.  She’s shaved only yesterday, lined fabric gliding over her legs and her arms craning to button the double keyholes that expose little slivers of her spine.  The guest bathroom downstairs has even harsher lighting than his ensuite, her face reading ghoulish with the neutral tone of her lips. Her head cocks as she finger combs through her looser waves, falling out from their immaculate beachy state this morning.  

She pushes her lips together and rubs them together, creamy lipstick becoming even more emollient with the warmth.  There’s nothing more to primp, besides a few stray eyebrow hairs that she plucks. Her walk upstairs is slowed by peeking into the rooms in the equally windowed downstairs.  There’s a section of grassy yard along the windows, a hot tub inset making her blush along with the romantic high hedges. There’s a small gym, a sparse guest bedroom with what looks to be a slab of stone type mattress.  Her back throbs as she walks away, and she looks at a shut door with a keypad.

“Huh.”  Gliding past it, she walks through the grey and charcoal media room, another sectional dominating the space with a barren and empty marble-topped bar behind that.  Nothing like that would get used in this house.

The glass stairs are silent beneath her socked feet, tip toeing across the wood floor upstairs and to the glass bedroom door down the hall.  It’s frosted privacy glass and she contemplates knocking loud instead of kneeling before his bed like a handmaid. Sucking it up, she opens the door and slides into the darkened room.

Kylo is facedown, splaying out across the mattress like a starfish clinging to a tide pool.  There’s no shirt, showing off sculpted back muscles. Her eyes only draw to his lats, strong and solid.

_Boundaries, Rey._

Bending down, she sets her hand across his shoulder.  His skin is sticky but she prevails. “Kylo.” It’s a normal volume and she expects it not to suffice.  There’s only another muffled snore, his raven hair mussed. Rey wants to wind her hand through it.

“Kylo.”  Louder now, she scoots even closer to the side of the bed frame.  

No response.  There’s a steady breath rising and falling across his shoulders.  Rey’s tipping into her hangry side, nude squared off acrylics digging into his flesh.  Then they drag across his skin, scarlet tracks following behind. They grab above his hip bone and squeeze down.

There’s a stir; then his hand flashes out to attempt to bat her away.  Rey doesn’t move. “Wake up.”

A grumble and a growl respond.  “I’m not your mother. I don’t have to be all sweet to you.”

That gets him to lift his head to glare at her, eyes still half-lidded.  Temperamental radiates off him with the stiffening of his shoulders. “My mom didn’t wake me up.  The nanny did.”

Rey’s heart would break if she doesn’t desire to rip apart a raw steak like a dog.  “Boohoo.”

“Fuck you.”

Her eyebrow quirks and without missing a beat, “Buy me dinner first.”

“Fine.”  Thankfully he’s not going to push the fight beyond this.  She’s sitting back on her heels to watch him sit up and rub his face, skin stretching like melting wax.  The dark circles haven’t lessened; even after sleeping an extra four hours.

She chances a calmer conversation.  “Why aren’t you sleeping?” Umber eyes look up from the floor.

“Lots of stuff to do.”

“Like what?”

He looks back down to the floor and shakes his head.  The conversation deems itself over when he gets off the bed and walks past her to his closet.  Rey stays where she is, despite the riding up of her dress or the cramp in her right calf.

There’s the slam of a drawer and that’s when she stands up.  Her back is still turned to the closet, there’s the tinny scrape of hangers on a rack as he sifts through what sounds to be hundreds of garments.  “Can we get Italian food?” She’s been thinking about it all day, pasta coloring behind her eyelids at every free moment.

“Sure.”  She turns to look at him, standing in the closet while he fiddles with something on his chest.

Her brows crease together, “What are you doing?”  His head whips to look at her and that’s when she sees the bar pierced through his right nipple.  The flame of her cheeks is unmistakable, hand coming to brush a lock of hair from her face and avert her eyes down.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“You’ve sucked my cock before and you’re blushing over _nipple piercings_?”  

Though he has a point, she still snorts and shakes her head.  “I’m not.”

As always, he can see right through her as if she’s crystalline.  “Sure. Come closer.”

She doesn’t move a muscle at his beck and call, stone still as he watches expectantly.  Pulling a charcoal grey sweater over his head, “I didn’t peg you as shy.” He looks good in the color, heightening the sandy portions of his brown eyes.

Her hands tug on the hem of her dress to pull it even straighter, wanting no creases.  “What are you gonna do if I comply?” Rey can’t risk being pulled back into his bed.

His head cocks as he looks at her before he fishes through a side of his dresser drawer.  A silver chain winds out, a dog tag sitting at the end of it. Rey watches him come closer before turning around and lifting her hair.  

Kylo wraps the chain around two times before slipping it over her head.  It rests in the middle of her chest and she drops her hair to pick up the tag.  The engraving is nearly illegible and she vows not to ask about the letters she can see: H, N, S, L.  “Keep it.”

She turns her head to look back at him, chin tilting up.  “Are you sure?” Rey doesn’t want the expectation of a brand on her body.  He nods his head.

“Yeah, looks better on you anyways.”  A fleeting compliment; making her pull her lower lip between her teeth.  The moment is too intimate for the both of them, evident in the way he steps away that leaves enough room for Jesus.  

She looks past him, deeper in the closet.  “Can we drive?”

“Huh?”

There’s a moment of silence before he processes her question.  “Okay. Convertible or SUV?”

There are choices?  For a guy who never seems to drive, he has cars that collect dust in his garage.  Rey wants to survey the options with a fine-tuned eye. “Let me look first.”

He chances a glance up and down at her.  “Yeah.” Then he shoulders past her with a black denim jacket in his grip, leaving her to stand in his dust.  Socked feet propel her after him, following him into the living room. Los Angeles is spotty lights in the distance, but her focus rests on him as he sits on the couch.  Patience already razor thin, the rolling paper falling onto the coffee table lobs off another millimeter. The metal grinder bangs against the glass coffee table and she takes the liberty to walk away to grab her new boots.  Sherpa lined with black and red speckled laces, now that she looks at them, they’re a little generic for being designer.

Feet wedge into them, and she takes care to squat down and tie them.  Better than bending, Kylo doesn’t deserve the flash of panties. Standing upright once more, she moves to stand by the couch and watch his work.

There’s a sharp focus in the tiny bit his tongue sticks out, rolling the marijuana in the paper like an open heart surgeon stitching an aorta.  Careful as he licks the edge, his eyes dart to her as he finishes it. “Are you going to smoke that before you drive?”

He holds a lighter along the seam to dry it, watching the flame.  ”Probably not.” She nods in approval, glad that he’s at least considering the fragility of her life.  Her foot begins to tap as he stows everything away in a fancy leather box. Then he stands, looming over her in a way that makes her neck shrink.  “Let’s go.” Tucking the joint behind his ear, he walks past her and down the stairs to what she assumes to be the garage. Rey follows, dragging her black purse along with her.  She’d have to invest in a better bag at some point, but there’s no time for it.

The garage is spacious, yet mostly empty.   _Three_ cars sit side by side, all in matching inky black.  There are two SUVs. One is a Range Rover that’s clearly been customized within an inch of its life due to the carbon fiber that wraps it.  The other one only bares the Aston Martin logo, her heart jumping into her throat.

“This one is a prototype.”  His hand settles across the hood of the Aston Martin while Rey wouldn’t even dream of breathing near it.  “It comes out in 2020.”

This is fame taking shape in the form of a car that’s worth more than her feeble existence.  “You rarely drive.” It’s out of her mouth before she can stop it, and she looks in fear of a verbal bite back.

There’s only a low laugh instead.  “You have no clue about the perks of being the son of a drag racer.”  Rey obviously knows about Han Solo, listed on Kylo’s Wikipedia and cited as being, “absent” in most publications.  Rockstar with daddy issues; they come a dime a dozen apparently.

Her hair whispers over her shoulder as she fixes her eyes on the Ferrari convertible.  The top is up, but there’s a peek of red leather seats. This is just excessive. “So which one?”

He’s standing with his arms crossed over his chest, looking more like a sullen sixteen-year-old than a 6’6 sequoia tree that could bend her over one of these.

Rey probably wouldn’t even resist.  “I don’t know.” She admits.

Kylo looks her up and down before assessing each car.  Perhaps he’s an AI gone batty, building a profile of her based on her clothing choices.  “Are you feeling safety, exclusivity, or ostentatious?”

The question makes her pause for a long time, trying to discern what any of those words mean in this context.  Ostentatious could describe all of this. “Uh...safety?” Is he normally not a safe driver? What is she about to get into?

He steps away to a hook with key fobs hung on it, selecting one.  The Range Rover beeps and the lights flash. “After you. Be careful with the wrap.”  He’s definitely the type to disallow eating in his car for fear of crumbs.

Rey opens the door as if she’s handling a precious newborn, sliding into the passenger side and feeling the cushy seats beneath her bare legs.  Also red and black leather, she wonders why red is the only color he tolerates. The seatbelt clicks across her front as he settles in, car starting with a roar.  It subsides to a near purr, Bluetooth dinging and blaring rock coming over the speakers.

Her ears hurt, even as he turns it down and puts on a softer genre of rock.  “Is rock all you listen to?”

Kylo looks over at her, “Do you have any suggestions?”

“That you’d like?”

“Yeah.”

“No.”  Rey’s into much more of the candy pop scene, something that has a good beat and makes her brain whiteout.  

He puts the car into drive, ending the conversation in his way.  Rey takes the liberty to glance around the car, at the immaculacy of the interior or the bells and whistles on the console.  Her eyes fixate out the passenger side window as her head lolls against the cushy headrest.

“Where do you want to eat?”  The car hasn’t started to move, sitting at an idle.

She can’t be bothered to think, at the point of hungry where even Brussel sprouts could be palatable.  “You pick.”

“Alright.  Text Hux and tell him we’ll be at Osteria Mozza in like…”  He trails off as he punches it into the GPS. “Twentyish minutes.  I’m sure they’ll find some barnacle to get a few pictures.” Rey forgets that this is all for publicity, that her face is about to be plastered on gossip sites and picked apart by losers.

Rey fishes her phone from her purse and opens the empty text thread to Hux.  The message is simple:

_Osteria Mozza in 20._

Throwing it back into her bag, she crosses her legs and refocuses out the window as the car rolls forward towards the garage door.  Opening with a rumble, she lets her eyes shut.

“You’re not falling asleep on me, are you?”  Her eyes flutter open to look over to him, uncrossing her legs but keeping her thighs pressed together.

Pushing a lock of hair out of her eyes, “I’m trying not to be hangry.”  She’s too sweet for her own good; he deserves to get ripped into occasionally.  

Only a simple, “I see.”  Then he rounds a corner at a speed that most would drift at.  Clearly, he learned how to drive from someone practiced in careful recklessness.  Rey adjusts herself in his seat, shifting every so often in nervous anticipation.  She’s resisting the allure of scrolling through her Instagram, fearing the number of notifications popping up.  So many eyes on her profile, her pictures, makes her more than anxious; bordering on insane.

“How do you do this?”

She asks it before she can think the question through.  “Do what?”

Obtuse much?  “Nevermind.” Maybe she’s a little too biting for this type of conversation.

Kylo doesn’t let things go.  “Come on.”

She shakes her head and feels the car slow to a near crawl.  “Tell me.”

Something inside of her snaps like a wrist bone in a roller skating accident.  “Can we eat fucking food? My vision is getting blurry.”

“Fine.”

His tone of voice, the flippancy, makes her grit her teeth and she can’t shut up.  “I don’t even want to be here right now.”

“That’s fine.  Me neither.”

She curls her nails into her bare thighs.  “Fine. I don’t care.”

“Cool.  I don’t care either.”

“Stop copying me.”

“What are you, five?”

“At least I’m not wearing eyeliner or have a bunch of metal in my body at twenty-nine.”

The car screeches to a stop, so audible that it makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.  She focuses ahead as the leather squeaks. Their bickering has gone too far, to the breaking point that leaves the car rumbling in the silence.

Rey cracks first, for her sanity and conscience.  “I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

Her thighs begin to hurt from the pressure on her skin and she nods her head.  His hand clasps around one of her wrists, pulling it away from her flesh and holding it in place.  “Don’t do that.” Rey wants to rip her wrist away from him but she just freezes instead, other fingers loosening up and settling flat across the fabric of her dress.  

“I’m sorry too.”

She shakes her head and it lolls against the headrest.  Eyes fluttering shut, her wrist drops and the car begins to move again.

Her ears tune to his voice, “I spent my entire life being made fun of for how I look.  Stuff like that just-”

She can’t help her interruption, “You’re beautiful.”

That’s not a lie, Rey doesn’t lie.  Even if this situation is a fallacy in itself, they pass through the gate at the base of the hill and sit at the stop sign as cars whiz by.

The tick of the turn signal forces her to speak again.  “I mean it. Anyone would be crazy to deny that they wouldn’t fuck you any chance they get.”   _Even if you’re a colossal asshole._

“Huh.  Then why are you pushing me away with a forty-foot pole?”  He turns onto the busy street and accelerates.

“Who knows.”

“There has to be a reason.”

She shakes her head to herself and repeats, “I don’t know.”  Could it be a fear of intimacy? Or the fact that she knows he’s going to tear her heart into confetti for his own gain.

“Let me be your friend.  You seem to forget I’m in the same boat as you.”

“Friends don’t sleep with one another.”

“I think we’re a little unconventional for friends, as you’ve already wrapped your hands around my throat and made me come harder than I have in two years.”

Rey can’t help her snort at the hazy memory; at the feeling of his throat fluttering beneath her grip.  “Who made you come that hard two years ago?”

There’s a low laugh, “I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Your groupies do.”

“Ah, yeah.  Eighteen-year-old girls who have only sucked a cock in their high school boyfriend’s Suzuki.  Totally liable to make me come like a freight train.”

She laughs now, covering her mouth in an attempt to stifle it.  “I seldom fuck a lot of groupies.”

Between the spaces of her fingers, “The internet seems to think you do.”

“Because everything is true on the internet.  Fucking people on tour is exhausting. Pretending I know their names even more so.”

“What was the name of the last girl you had sex with?”

The long pause he takes makes her hold back another belly laugh.  “Uh...Katie?”

He looks so uncertain that she can’t help the stream of giggles.  “Was she good?”

“Fuck no.  None of them are, they act like I’m some god.”

“Do you need someone to tell you that you aren’t a god?  Because you aren’t.” She stares at his profile, the sharp cut of his jaw or the way it shifts beneath the skin.  

“Easy for a goddess to say.”

“Flattery won’t get you far, Ren.”

The way he smiles, only for a fleeting moment, makes something in her belly curl up and purr.  She smiles too. “I meant what I said about choking me. I really did enjoy it.”

She feels her cheeks heat up like the click of a gas range, lower lip tugging between her teeth.  Rey needs to resist for posterity, to hold the lack of intimacy. “I’m happy for you.” There’s a hum that comes from his throat, turning onto Melrose.  If she knew it would be here, she would’ve just had him meet her.

They had to present themselves as a unit, which meant leaving the same car.  There are a few people lingering with cameras, the valet guy glancing back to them every so often in confusion.  Kylo is smooth as he tucks the joint from his ear into the pocket of his jacket and pulls into the prescribed valet lane, shouldering out of the car.  Rey begins to unbuckle her seatbelt and reach for the door, seeing the flashbulbs pop despite the window tint. Thankfully it’s so dark that it borders on illegal.

Her door wrenches open and his hand is offered out to her to take.  Rey doesn’t hesitate as her vision whites out and the rapid click of the cameras makes her ears perk.  He practically pulls her from the car, forcing her to find her footing. “Come on, kitten.”

The pet name makes sense when she notices the lack of flash coming from one camera, opting recording video instead.  Rey doesn’t want to even think of what she looks like without the precise angles that a director would perform; she hopes to God she hasn’t inadvertently flashed anyone with her dress.  Tipping her chin up, she squeezes his hand as they complete the short walk to the entrance of the restaurant.

Inside is warm and low-lit, aromatic with fresh pasta and garlic.  It’s busy inside but it doesn’t stop the widening of the hostess’s eyes at their presence.  The vultures outside indicated much-coveted fame.

_Don’t be fooled; it’s all a ruse._

Kylo doesn’t even have to speak.  “Table for two? We’ll get that started right now.”  She’s almost robotic as she scurries away. His hand falls to hold her hip.  The din and clinks in the restaurant make him lean down, lips so close to her ear.  If she would just turn her head…

“You okay?”

The question warms her heart before she permits it.  How dare he be so sweet when they had just been bickering like toddlers with a toy.  Before she can respond, the hostess slides back into view with a bobbing dyed red ponytail.

“Right this way, sir.”  Rey can’t help her eyebrow raise at “sir,” stepping ahead of him at his nudge and letting the anxious girl lead them to Italian food nirvana.

They’re seated at a two-top shoved up against the wall, table size comically small as he knees encroach into her space.  He looks as if he’s in a baby chair, slightly hunched over as he begins to read the menu in silence. Rey mimics even though she knows vaguely what she wants.  “You ever been here?” Kylo looks so out of place here, with the severe black septum. There are little spikes at the end of the horseshoe, echoing devil horns.  How fitting for Lucifer himself. Does that mean she’s Lilith?

She shakes her head, rubbing her earlobe between her fingers to focus on anything besides his gaze in the overtly romantic dim lighting.  The waitress coming by and between them to light a candle makes it worse.

“Just water.  You?” He says it as the girl pours water into the waiting glasses, her thin black brows knitting together.  Rey glances to the drink menu that sits at the edge of the table before looking up at her.

“Water is fine.”  She swears the growl of her stomach is audible.

Kylo must sense it.  “Can we get grilled octopus and also the shaved Brussel sprouts?”  She’s god damn grateful he’s taken upon himself to order food; even if both dishes sound gag-inducing.  Rey eats anything that’s put in front of her. An upbringing alone, with no steady food stream until Maz, makes her scared that she’ll go hungry again.

“Of course.  I’ll be back to take your dinner order.”  It’s the waitress’s first time talking to them, her voice high and tinny.  There’s an edge of jealousy in the way her face sours. Once they’re alone, Rey snorts.

Kylo is still studying her and she blows a lock of her hair from her eyes.  “So besides auditions, what are you doing?”

They’re forced to talk to each other now.  Her tongue swipes over her teeth as she thinks of the best way to describe how lazy her days have become.  Just the day before, she had gotten up to go get coffee and go to the bookstore during what would be her work hours.  Changes excite her but shifts in routine are hard to stomach.

Consistency is a crucial factor.  Maybe that’s why she can’t stand him.

“Go-sees.  Also a lot of acting classes.”  Go-sees are a mere formality now, Rey beginning to shift away from modeling; she doesn’t seem to be enough for any runway show or editorial.  Every actor could improve, even after winning three Oscars as Padme Amidala had done.

The brain jump to the sixties era starlet, Kylo’s grandmother, makes her bite her tongue in a jolt of pain.  There are similarities in their faces, minute ones like the plump bottom lip or the slight hollow of his cheekbone, the whiskey tint of their irises.  

She’s sitting amongst a prince with the highest pedigree and lineage; facts that he rejects with every extreme act.  “You look spooked.”

The velvety voice yanks her back to the present to process.  “You look a lot like-”

“Let me guess.  My grandfather?”

It’s said sardonically and she regrets even saying anything.  Her gaze bores into the table now. “Your grandmother. I barely know anything about your grandfather.”  Her shoulders square off as she lifts her chin. Maintaining strength in the face of a lion who could rip her apart feels oddly orgasmic.

He sits back, knees bumping into hers.  “Good. Keep it that way.”

Moving on before any more family talk, “Come here often?”

“Mostly for business meetings.”

Rey forgets that someone like him would have those, or even show up to them.  She nods her head as the waitress slides back into view. “What can I get started for you two?”

Kylo stares at Rey expectantly and she quickly finds her bearings, “Goat cheese ravioli.”

“Sea trout.  Also, can we get the check with our entrees?”

A weird request.  The waitress seems to think so also based on the quirk of her brow.  “Yes, sir. The antipasti will be out in a few.” There’s a miniscule LA cadence as she says it, a vocal fry that most girls have adopted with open arms.

The waitress walks away.  “I don’t like waiting for people.  I’d rather streamline the process.”  He explains.

That’s fairly smart.  Rey shrugs and continues on through the fog of her appetite.  “What were you talking about the last time you were here?”

Maybe he’d run his mouth with a story so she had something to focus on.  There’s no such luck. “Someone trying to buy my life rights.”

“What are those?”  They sound nauseating.

“The right to tell or sell my life story to be used in film, publications, all that shit.”

So it is as terrifying as she imagines.

“Who owns them?”

His smile makes her legs cross.  Why is he so fucking attractive when he does that?

“Yours truly.  Do you want to buy them?”

Rey shakes her head.  “I wouldn’t exactly know what to do with them.”

Kylo shrugs.  “You’re a smart girl. I’m sure you could figure it out.  They might be out of your price range, though.”

“How much are they?”

He comically taps his chin in thought.  “I’ll give you a five percent fake girlfriend discount, which would make it around a million.”

She chokes on her water.  

“Sound good?”

“Jesus Christ, that’s a lot of money.”

“Consider my family tree.  Rockstar grandfather, Oscar-winning actress grandmother, senator mother, and a drag-racing asshole of a father.”

Rey opens her mouth to say anything else to change the subject but he continues, “Tack on war hero to that last one.  He never lets you forget that shit.”

The sourness seeps into her blood and makes her a little sick.  “I’m sorry.”

He asks what she asks herself.  “Why are you apologizing?”

“I didn’t want to make you talk about your family.”

“Everyone else does.”

There’s Mr. Asshole again, glaring at her.  She can’t help the roll of her eyes.

“It’s like a fucking novelty for people-”

“I’m sorry.”  He stops and she sips her water.  “I don’t care about your family. I really don’t.”

That gives him pause, sitting back with an audible creak.  He tugs on the collar of his shirt, looking like a kid in a stuffy suit at Sunday school. “People will bring them up with you.”

“Let them then.”

He shakes his head.  “You wouldn’t want that.”

“You mean **you** don’t?”

He grinds his teeth, evident in the way his face hardens.  “Yeah. Because I prefer not to be accused of the possibility of beating the shit out of you when I lose my cool.  Just like he did.” Rey had avoided reading about Anakin and Padme’s end. The Wikipedia article had been too clinical for something so tragic.  She’d rather sleep ignorantly and peacefully at night.

“You don’t scare me.”

It’s true.  While Kylo may be a sequoia tree, Rey knows she could claw his eyes out at any free moment.  His laugh is low, “I should.”

“Boo you.  You’re not as scary as you want to be.”

The starters are set in between them before he can fire back, and the odd-looking octopus consumes Rey's attention.  Luckily, with the char from the flame, it doesn’t taste too fishy.

“Ever been to Japan?”

Conversations with him are a marathon.  Rey looks up, a tentacle half out of her mouth.  She quickly sucks it up and chews. “I haven’t been anywhere but South Africa and Texas.”

“What a weird combination.”

“Well, I only remember South Africa.  I could’ve been other places.” Rey doesn’t want to talk about her origin story anymore, not in the company of someone who would never understand.  Kylo had a family who loved him, who definitely cared about him. He had everything she doesn’t have and he threw it away for reasons that she can’t put her finger on.  

She resents him for it.  Even if she doesn’t know the full picture, she can’t support those decisions or ideologies.

“I’m going for tour.  I’ll bring you along if you want.”

Tour is said so indifferently as if it’s only going to the grocery store or to get the mail.  “What’s that like?”

“Tour?”  He’s picking through his Brussel sprouts as she nods.  “Used to be fun. Going out in foreign countries, fucking girls I wouldn’t see again.”

He takes a moment to chew and swallow, Rey mirroring.  “Then I hurt my back from overexertion. Then fell down the addiction hole to cope with pain.  Overdosed a lot, had to get sober. My back only got worse, I’m older now, and I just want to stay home and do anything else.”

Vulnerability tastes sweet in comparison to the puckery lemon he had just been doling out.  “You’re only twenty-nine.”

“I feel like I’m sixty-five.”

“What does it feel like?”  Not specific enough. “The pain, I mean.”  

Rey’s always the type to try to understand and empathize.  He takes a long drink of water, “I could be laying down, not even moving my limbs, and there’s always this dull ache.  I stretch or move wrong? It’s a sharp stab, except the knife twists.”

Her heart feels so heavy at the seemingly routine of describing his pain.  “You get used to it. Day-to-day is something I deal with well. But if there’s a flare, it’s cold, or the stars are misaligned for some fucking reason, it’s hard to really do anything through it.”

She can’t help herself, “Can I do anything?”

The look of weary surprise that flickers across his features should be on her own instead.  “I’ve had some of the best orthopedists, chiropractors, neurologists, and even an alternative medicine kook look at it.  There’s nothing I can do.”

There has to be something; she wants to shout so, to obsessively google research about stem cells or some concoction of life-changing herbs.  She holds her tongue like good girls should, swallowing down a tiny lump in her throat. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.  Already happened so I can’t do much about it.”  Most are allotted oxycontin for this type of pain, tethered to a lifelong opiate.  That link had nearly killed him. Rey’s not sure if she would have wanted to be around Kylo Ren at age twenty-five, even age twenty-two if he had been using so much.

She can’t help the way her foot runs along his calf, the quarters cramped.  She could hold back. She knows this deep inside, something about touching him feels so grounding.

Kylo is pulling his phone out, the first appearance this entire time.  Come to think of it; she hasn’t rifled through her purse to find her own.  “I need to get a picture of you for Instagram.”

“We can do it at yours.”

His eyebrows raise and she realizes what she’s said.  Time to live with it. “It’s late you know?”

A poor excuse.

“Needs to look natural and coupley.”

Even worse.  

He’s still watching her.  “I suppose you’ll want it somewhere obvious.”  She nods.

“So my bed.”  Maybe she does mean that.  Some protests immediately arise.  

“Is that brand friendly?”

His laugh is a bark, leaning forward to get closer to her.  Rey doesn’t move, even though their faces are inches apart. “Do you really expect brand-friendly from me?”

That is a good point and she leans even closer.  “I’m not sleeping with you.”

“That’s fine.”

There’s a smug smile painting across his face as the entrees sit before them.  Rey decides not to focus on their previous words, knowing that crawling into his bed is a bad idea.  Alternatively, she shoves ravioli in her mouth like her existence depends on it.

Or maybe the way he stares at her across the table is something she leans on.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Everything has a glossy sheen over it when he drives home, headlights blurred from the sleepiness that’s beginning to fog up again.

They make it back to his house and it’s then that he notices she’s been non-combative the entirety of the drive.  Even quiet when they get inside, only the beep of the security system or the scuffle of her heels filling his ears.  

He decides to be blunt, for both of their sakes.  “I’m probably going to crash again, so we should get this social media shit over with.”  Kylo doesn’t even like Instagram, posting a picture on occasion and then deleting the app to leave his account untouched for another three months.  

“Okay.  Can I see your wrists?”  Kylo looks down at both of his bare wrists.  The scratchy stick and poke is out to play on the right, “Everything Dies” sitting on top of the bone.  Sometimes, if he closes his eyes, he can picture it coming from his father like it had been yesterday.

_“Don’t get too attached.  Everything dies.”_

Kylo can’t remember why Han said that, only the twist in his gut that had barreled after.  The way his tears felt on his knuckles or how his nose filled with snot. He offers out his arms to her.  Her touch is tender, iPhone already in her grip as she adjusts the angles of her lens.

To take away the clinical feeling, “Trying to be poetic?”

Her huff only spurs the sarcasm.  “I can give you a Keats quote. Maybe Frost-”

“Your wrists move when you talk.”

Her look through her lashes makes his mouth stay shut, shutter snapping on the camera for his ears to tune.  The phone lowers, dropping back into her purse without any posting. “I don’t want to think of a caption for it.  You wanna take your photo?”

Now that he studies her, she’s tired too.  There’s a sleepy way she holds herself, a haze of a contact high across her face.  There’s no way he’s going for a direct face shot, not something that the world can see.  “I’ll think of one. Come on.”

He walks down the hall and expects her to follow, taking the opportunity to shed his denim jacket and pull the sweater stiffly over his head.  He throws the garments in the building pile on the floor of his closet, turning around and nearly running into her.

Rey looks up at him, “Can I have a shirt to sleep in?”

_You can take the dress off._

He nods and turns to the rack, sifting through the back.  Despite having such a basic style, he gets sent all sorts of clothing.  The sizing is wrong most often, and a majority of the rags aren’t his style.  The white t-shirt with the depiction of Satan holding a sign saying “hail me” is his choice, tossing it over his shoulder and in her general direction.  Her heels are off, kicked to the foot of his bed. She’s somewhere else, peeking out of the closet to watch her stand in the track that holds the panes of glass.

The night isn’t too cold but he still steps up behind her after scooping the shirt off the floor.  Nudging her shoulder, she turns her head back to him. Then she takes the shirt, reaching over her shoulder blades to unlatch the keyhole at the base of her neck.  “I’ve got it.” His hands are on her, feeling her relax beneath his touch. The button releases and he takes the liberty to push the fabric off her shoulders. Undressing her feels too impersonal, wanting his teeth to sink into her throat or his hand cupping her sex.

Though he holds off, leaving the fabric to rest on across the middle of her back.  There’s no bra clasp, little moles dotting across her spine and the ink of the sun eclipsing the moon.  “You ever think about getting another tattoo?” He walks away as he says it, flipping on the bathroom light to lean over the sink and turn on the tap.  

Rey laughs from the other room, “Not really.”

“What’s so funny?  I think you’d look pretty cool with another.”  She steps into the doorway, t-shirt hanging off her frame and making him focus on washing his face.  Anything but her looking too comforting and natural. Where’s the girl that hates him?

“So I can look like you?”

There she is.  He rises back to open his medicine cabinet and brushes his hair out of his eyes.  “I could give you one.” His drug days rewarded him with a tattoo gun, bought during a tweaking period.  He’s rather good at letters, definitely not pictures. The amount he practiced on girls, the entourage and his bandmates had paid off in that regard.

Her laughing makes him shrug, rubbing moisturizer across his face.  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. You could put ‘Rey’s a bitch’ across my forehead.”

“It would be cunt, not bitch.”  He can’t help but sneer into the mirror, her arms crossing over her chest and eyes rolling.

“Lucifer himself.”  The grumbling rewards him further, fixing a few locks of hair.  

“I’m not the one wearing the Satan shirt.”  

Rey glances down at her frame while uncrossing her arms.  “I’m offended. I would be Lilith.”

He turns to lean in the doorway, getting her to back up; not too far away, still in touch distance.  “You’re too sweet.”

“But I can tell Adam to fuck off and let me top.”

“If you’re Lilith, you crawl to me after Adam.”

“Lilith crawls to no one.”

That stops him short, along with the set of her jaw and the furrow of her brows.  She’s determined to prove her point. So he rolls on his back, “Whatever you say.”  Passing her, he moves to close the window while unbuttoning his jeans.

He turns when the pane latches, viewing her studying a vintage Polaroid camera.   The warmth licks up the back of his neck and he clears his throat in discomfort. Does he tell her that most of his nudes are taken on film or is that too far down the flaunty rabbit hole?   Polaroids of girls are something he used to keep until he burned them all after one year clean. They’re all women he can’t remember, so keeping ghostly echoes makes him sick.

“Didn’t peg you for a photographer.”

He only shrugs, watching her toy around with it.  “What do you shoot on this?”

“People.  Hold it up like you’re gonna take a picture?”  He’s fishing his phone out of his back pocket as she holds it up in front of her face.

“Cock your head.”  Doing as she’s told, he takes a few before shifting his phone and taking a couple more.  Flicking through the pictures, he favorites the fifth in this photostream under the pretense of “liking the lighting.”  Honesty would divulge that her lips look the prettiest in it but boosting her ego would only give her ammunition to ruin him.

“You’re good to drop it now.”  Rey lowers the camera and sets it back on top of the nightstand she pulled it from, arms crossing back over her chest.  It feels like seven minutes in heaven when he finally slid into the closet with Sella and a red solo cup and left with vodka in his eyes and a fat lip.  The fact that he hadn’t done anything had been the punishable offense, instead running his mouth like some coy little virgin.

Kylo swallows.  “Well, I’m gonna go to bed.”  Maybe she’ll get the hint from his repeated glances back to the sheets.

“Can I sleep in the guest room?”  That’s unexpected, slapping him across the face.  He expected she’d slide in next to him, not traipse to be somewhere by herself.

He’s not in the position to persuade or argue.  “That’s fine. The thermostat is by the stairs.”

_Have fun sleeping in the room I almost died in._

“Thanks.  Well uh…”

_Please stay._

“Night.”

She’s retreating out of the bedroom before he can change his mind or put his foot down.  The door slams behind her, rattling the glass.

“Goodnight.”

It sounds worse in the silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love these two. so very much. i extended the chapter count to two more chapters bc i love them so much. anyways, thoughts and feelings r welcome @ [twitter](https://twitter.com/dankobah) and [tumblr](https://dankobah.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> self-edited, chapter title is inspired by ["greetings from califournia" by the neighbourhood](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-p_B0Edvxcs).
> 
> the list:  
> [the dress](https://www.thereformation.com/products/cara-dress?color=black)  
> [the boots](https://www.marcjacobs.com/crosby-hiking-shearling-boot/191267517308.html)  
> [marc jacobs lipstick in "infamous" (ha)](https://www.sephora.com/product/le-marc-lip-creme-P392352?icid2=products%20grid:p392352:product&skuId=1651447)  
> [the range rover {without the carbon wrap :(}](https://www.landroverusa.com/vehicles/range-rover/autobiography/index.html)  
> [the ferarri](https://monza.ferrari.com/en-us/monza-sp2)  
> [aston martin DBX](https://www.astonmartin.com/en-us/future-models/dbx) (totally inserted at the influence of [saturnine <3](https://twitter.com/art_of_stardust))  
> [the fuck are life rights? (and what do you need to know about them?)](https://www.romanolaw.com/2016/09/30/life-rights-agreements-need-know/)  
> [the social media posts](https://dankobah.tumblr.com/post/182621950192/do-you-need-someone-to-tell-you-that-you-arent-a)


	9. she sought death on a queen sized bed (touch me, yeah)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Instead, “Please text me when you’re going to disappear.”
> 
> Her voice is so quiet, nearly inaudible against his hoodie. Did he cause her anxiety these past few days? Is he as much of the personification of vexation and a fuck up as feared? Well, he recognizes he’s both but he pretends he isn’t when appropriate.
> 
> “I thought I did something wrong.” She whimpers and he weaves his arms around her to squeeze her to his chest and start his amends. 
> 
> He sways foot to foot to calm, “Baby-girl, it’s all me.”
> 
>  
> 
> _All my fault. I’m so sorry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **tags:**  
>  bipolar mention  
> referenced/implied drug use  
> referenced/implied overdose  
> medication  
> self-harm mention  
> just a lot of sad, i'm sorry

“Your phone’s off.”

Kylo can’t exactly turn Bastiaan away at his doorstep, especially when Kylo is unmistakably in the same sweats from the weekly band meeting three days before.  In contrary to Kylo’s lack of shirt, he's adjusting the black crew neck on his frame. Bastiaan looks more like a relic of Knights of Ren’s old days, baggy jeans and a lazy punk aura.  

Kylo rubs along his stubble covered jaw.  “Yeah.”

Bastiaan eyes him, paying close attention to his pupils before he levels back to a normal stare.  “Are you taking your meds?”

Every time that question comes up, Kylo wants to punch the asker.  There’s no way he’d ever do so to Bastiaan again, not wanting to spray his bleached locks with nose blood.  “Always. Would go crazy if I didn’t. Snoke tell you to come over?” The name invariably inspires stomach-churning worry that makes everything thirty times harder to deal with, but the question is essential to figure out how fucked he is when he does reappear.

If he ever does.

“I came on my own volition.  Can I come in?”

The answer is automatic, “No.  I want space.”

Bastiaan glances him up and down.  “You haven’t left the house for five days.”

“Who’s counting?”

Weary exhaustion is prevalent to his own ears.  “We are. Also, the frequency of your emails with lyrics and guitar tabs increased.”

“Am I supposed to hand deliver them on a silver platter?”  Kylo can’t help his sardonic tone. His bandmates can take his mood like this.

“No, I was more referring to you doing your agoraphobic creative thing again.”  The nail he hit on the head drives into the wood, creating a crack in the silence.  Kylo hasn’t really registered what he probably looks like right now, avoiding all mirrors in the house.  “Also haven’t been out with your girlfriend.”

His reflex of an answer is quicker than a knee being tapped in a doctor’s office, “She’s not my girlfriend.”

Bastiaan shrugs, “She’s still a person who’s around.  Probably just as concerned as us.” Rey holding a shred of care for him makes him laugh out loud, especially after she slept in his guest room and walked out before he could get up and offer a form of breakfast.  Rey doesn’t like him, so he refuses to like her.

What he wouldn’t give to ignore everyone.  

“Thanks for checking in.  I have to go to bed.” Kylo goes to close the front door, Bastiaan shoving his foot in the way.  He contemplates smashing it shut anyways but he’s working on staying civilized.

“Start with turning on your phone and taking a shower.”

“If I turn on my phone-”

“Leave everything for tomorrow.”

Kylo shudders a breath, itching across the koi fish along his forearm.  “Take a break. No one can be creative twenty-four-seven. It’s why artists cut off their ears and walk into oceans with rocks in their pockets.”

Morbid, but maybe the intention is to make him feel better.  It sort of works, getting him to snort, ”Okay. I’ll text you tomorrow.”

“I’ll hold you to that.  Otherwise, I’m coming right back here.”

“God forbid.  Get off my doorstep.”  Bastiaan obliges, removing his black chuck from the doorway.

Kylo slams the door shut after he shuffles away and takes the time to lock it and turn on the security system, shifting back towards his bedroom he’s been holed up in.  There’s a stale feeling that permeates it, weed smoke sticking in the air and making fresh air more than necessary. He starts with sliding open a window, letting the cool night air in and bending to collect his tabs and notebook paper into an open binder.  He snaps the binder shut, sliding his phone off the end table and powering it on.

The screen slightly freezes from the influx of notifications.  He focuses on putting his acoustic guitar away while the phone can get its bearings and begin working again.  He closes the black and white sticker covered case and picks up the device.

He bypasses every other message thread to read one.

**Rey:**

**hey im sorry i left so fast this morning.  i had an audition and had to get home and change.**

**your caption was really funny.**

**can you call me back?  we need to figure out a time to go out this week.**

**hello?**

**can i come bring you a coffee?**

**kylo**

**please call me**

The messages are all spaced out, the last one being early this morning.  A glance to the alarm clock tells him that it’s only eight PM. He doesn’t hesitate to call her, putting it on speaker as he gets to the task of meticulously stripping his bed.  Maybe he’ll finally let the cleaning service back into his home to refresh the space.

“Hello?”

Her voice sounds nervous, a little crackly from the connection.  Kylo shakes a pillow from a pillowcase. “Hey.”

There’s background noise, something that sounds like a TV with a man’s laughter cutting in.  He struggles not to assume the worst and occupies the airspace, “You busy?”

There’s hesitation before, “I’m watching the Bachelor with some people.”

His eyes can’t help but roll back into his head, throwing the sheets in a pile.  “When will you be not busy?”

“Soon.  Why?”

Why does he want to see her again?  What would they do?

“I thought I could like…”  God help him for being such a sap.  “Come over.”

She stumbles over some syllables for a moment, making his heart sink into his belly.  “Are you okay?”

That’s not an easy question to answer, so he hums; they’re not getting anywhere today.  “Forget it, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Maybe he just needs to go back to bed and start fresh.

“Wait.  Where are you?”

Hanging up would be a dick move, so he taps it off speaker and holds the iPhone to his ear.  “Home.”

Rey deeply inhales.  “Can you come in an hour?”

He does need to shower, mainly to smell better and play like he's been mentally stable.

_No, I definitely haven't been thinking about shooting up so I can get inspired._

”Text me your address.”  Her sigh of relief makes him want to disconnect the call as soon as possible.  This isn’t to reward her.

She’s gonna let him into her house and be insufferably needy.  All he wants is to be touched, or just sit in the same room as someone that can keep him accountable and less likely to fuck up.

Isolation may kill, but it’s too much of a trusted modus operandi to let perish.

“I’ll text you the address.  An hour, okay?”

The emphasis on the time makes him aware that she’s probably vacating the house for his arrival.  Not that he blames her; he really doesn’t want to talk to anyone else right now. Barely even her, if he were being honest.

_Only touch me and tell me I’m doing something right._

“You have my word.  I’ll let you know when I leave.”

“Okay.  I’ll see you then.”

Kylo goes to hang up the phone before he hears another crackle after her goodbye.  “Thanks for calling me.”

He takes a moment to breathe.  Kylo isn’t calling for her relief.  Is he? Pushing his hair back, “Thanks for answering.  Bye.” He hangs up first, opening Spotify and wandering into the bathroom to take a shower.

The cold of the shower should soothe the rippling pain in his lower back.  The chill makes the vertebrae lock up instead, a vice screwing tighter and tighter until the bones feel close to snapping and shattering into dust.  This type of pain takes his breath away, though brief and never lingering long. The sensation abates after thirteen seconds, his grip unclenching to reveal nail marks on his palms.  There’s no other way to survive through pain than perseverance.

He shakes water droplets off his hair like a dog before taking a full look in the mirror, toweling off the planes of muscle along his torso and infinitely glad that he got his pubic bone waxed before everything went bad in his cerebrum.  Kylo doesn’t look bad, but he’s not his best right now. The dark circles have gone beyond emo boy bruise level, and into the “raccoon that got out of a boxing match” territory. His eyes dart away to change the song (Fairweather Friends by D00KU) coming from the Bluetooth speaker in the shower.  By some irony, “Mr. Brightside” begins to blare.  He quits the Spotify app as soon as possible, grumbling to himself as he opens the medicine cabinet.  His fingers land on the punch pack of pills, glancing at the back to confirm they’re the new ones prescribed only seven days ago.   _Lithium Carbonate sustained release, 400 MG._

Kylo knows why he feels horrible and like all light has left the world.  Depressive episodes seep into his head and make the prospect of holing up and hoping something takes him away more appealing than any vice he’s wandered into.  He’s lost, unable to do anything but scribble down lyrics and play chords like a robot. Something seems off, a puzzle piece unable to slot the right way and make him whole.  He desires to be real, to touch things and make his nerve endings fire with something but hurt.

His phone begins to ring again and he takes a very long look at it before popping the pill into his mouth and swallowing it with a handful of water from the sink.  Then he sprays leave-in conditioner into his hair, gathering it to the back of his head with an elastic. It takes too long to do the whole blow-dryer and pomade routine and he has confidence that Rey won’t completely roast the fuck out of him as his bandmates would.  

Kylo shaves the stubble away, nick free and baby smooth under his deep assessment of the planes of his face.  There are features that he wants to tweak or change completely, like his nose and ears. The amount of anti-semitic shit he gets for his nose makes him sick, even though he isn’t in that sphere anymore.  He barely subscribed to Jewish ideologies before, and there’s no doubt that Yahweh wouldn’t kick his ass into Gehenna now. Even though he’s definitely not a good person, racism and anti-semitism lodges someone in the “choke on a corn chip you asshole” territory for him.  

He looks away from the mirror and makes sure to rub lotion across his tattooed covered arms.  The Japanese sleeve is complete, still vibrant for being finished two years ago; the other arm is a random mix of things that strike his fancy whenever he wanders into a tattoo shop and looks at the books.  From a rose to a tiny Hamlet looking skull, they all mean little and oversaturate his skin. Gaps in the ink bother him; he’ll have to call Asajj and get in for a flash appointment.

Kylo needs to leave the house before he gets more claustrophobic, and it’s near an hour; the drive will tip him over the edge.  He pulls a t-shirt, hoodie, and a fresh pair of sweats from his closet, donning each garment and relishing how the fabric glides over his uncomfortably stretched skin.  It’s as if he’s not meant for his own flesh.

The only thing with personality are his socks, grey, and red that read “I’m Dead Inside”.  It takes him a moment to throw a change of clothes, toothbrush, an ounce container of marijuana, and rolling papers into a checkered backpack.  Clicking the guitar case shut over the black and glossy acoustic guitar, he carries it delicately into the living room. Phone and wallet are on his person, keys downstairs by the cars.

There’s no inconspicuous way to get around LA if he drives.  Luxury cars are just his thing, but he should highly consider getting a Honda if he wants to be under-the-radar.  He enters the garage with long strides, grabbing the Ferrari keys with muscle memory. The ability to feel the wind on his face might help him come back to earth.  

He tunes Spotify to play mind-numbing dubstep that makes his ears hurt before pulling up the navigation for her address.  Kylo has seen the shithole of her apartment complex before, and he’s not sure if he’s delighted to park his car there. It’s the price of needing to cut the agoraphobic act.

The car purrs as he reverses and drives out of the garage, clicking the button to close the doors before turning onto the winding and dead streets in his neighborhood.  Recently repaved roads typically make him happy, but he only grimaces at the glide over the rain-slick asphalt.

Rain means that everyone in LA has collectively forgotten how to drive, the truth evident as someone cuts off his left turn and his fist slams on the horn for too long.  When normally he’d simmer in rage or irritation, there’s an alternative snowy emptiness.

The drive feels short, a quick twenty minutes and a straight shot down Sunset.  Silverlake remains to be one of his least favorite haunts in LA, especially at the ungentrified area that Rey resides in.  While he used to like gritty, this place makes him wrinkle his nose. The car slides into a guest space, engine ceasing its purr as he sits back in his seat.

For once, he’s concerned about being late.  He never gave an exact time he would be there but maybe she expected him to be there in an exact hour.  After hastily unbuckling his seatbelt and pulling the hood of his sweatshirt up for a tiny amount of ambiguity when he shoulders out of the car and grabs his stuff.

Kylo doesn’t think it’s molecularly possible, but the air around her front door smells like her: the florals, underlying sandalwood, and a lemony kick in the face.  Knocking on the door, he adjusts the backpack on his shoulders and waits.

There’s a slide of what sounds like a chain lock, the turn of a deadbolt, and finally, the click of a doorknob lock before the door opens up to the overwhelming smell of what he believes to be fresh baked cookies.  He can’t dwell on the source of the scent, only the clearly uneasy girl in front of him.

Rey is wearing matching black sweatpants and a crewneck sweater that reads **Big Bend Natl. Park**.  There’s fraying around the neck, indicating hand-me-down or trendy distressing; it could be either given their California residence.  Something tells him its the former, a relic of her past status as a common girl. He can’t evaluate her further when she rams into his chest and wraps her arms around him for dear life.

Peculiar; Kylo has been expecting a yelling match or maybe incessant chewing out for going off the grid with no warning like some over dramatic teenager.  

Instead, “Please text me when you’re going to disappear.”

Her voice is so quiet, nearly inaudible against his hoodie.  Did he cause her anxiety these past few days? Is he as much of the personification of vexation and a fuck up as feared?  Well, he recognizes he’s both but he pretends he isn’t when appropriate.

“I thought I did something wrong.”  She whimpers and he weaves his arms around her to squeeze her to his chest and start his amends.  

He sways foot to foot to calm, “Baby-girl, it’s all me.”

_All my fault.  I’m so sorry._

“What’s wrong?”

That’s not something he’s ready to share, the surface of his thumb reaching to trace just beneath her cheekbone.  “Not relevant right now.”

Clear frustration brews.  “Please tell me.”

Rey doesn’t let him go, only tips her head up to rest her chin on one of his habitually sore ribs.  He can’t begin to atone fast enough at the sight of bloodshot nature of her eyes. This can’t all be from him.  “Are you stressed out?”

The snort she releases is enough of an answer and Kylo walks her backward into the tiny apartment, the front door swinging closed.  The decor is what used to be light and airy with light heather accents, something that plausibly screamed Pinterest. Cardboard boxes sit in stacks everywhere around them now his eyes rake over an empty bookshelf.  “Moving?”

Rey nods, not bothering to let him go.  His touch starved body doesn’t mind, encouraging with a smothering grip.  There’s palpable fear radiating off of her and he wishes for characteristic verbal lashes.  He wants the strong-minded girl that treats him how he deserves, instead of induced cracked porcelain.

Her arms drop while his stay.  Kylo will do everything plus starve to keep touching her like this, to retain the nurturing he craves in his pocket.  “Can we go to your room?” As much as he’d be comfortable in anyone’s living room, her couch looks like the most uncomfortable piece of IKEA shit he’s seen in a while.  Also, he can hear the faint sounds of a mattress squeaking in a bedroom on the right wall of the living room. Rey’s cheek rests on his pectoral muscle, fingers delicately tracing across his sternum.  “Okay. That door.” She points to the door that sits on the left wall, and fingers crossed that it blocks out enough noise from the sex in the other bedroom.

Kylo doesn’t want to hear coitus that he’s not receiving.  Not on tour, in his house, or god forbid in his faux girlfriend’s apartment.  That’s when he lets her unwind, shrugging off the cumbersome backpack and picking up the guitar case he set down to hold her.  “Do you take requests?”

He can’t help but chuckle, “If I like the song, then yeah.”  The way her lower lip pulls between her teeth grants the right to turn around and stalk away to her bedroom while she stays behind to do god knows what.  

The boxes situation continues into the room, but there’s a lot more pale blue and yellow than he expects; he guessed she might be a pink type.  Rey’s sheets are soft upon sitting on the mattress shoved against the wall, being careful about removing his shoes and setting them somewhere where they won’t dirty up the carpet more than it’s been previously soiled.  

Umber eyes flick up to the ceiling, a comical poster of puppies plastered up above.  The door shuts and he chances a “Woof.”

“It’s a joke ala Finn.  I can’t reach and get it down.”

Who is Finn?  Was this the guy she was watching the bachelor with?  The probable boyfriend?

“How was the Bachelor?”

Not that he cares or anything, only trying to sleuth.

“Colton is still a dumb virgin and hasn’t jumped the fence.”

The quirk of his eyebrow enables her to continue, “They’re doing a thing called “hometowns” next week, where he visits the girl’s hometowns and families.”

“Sounds like a disaster.”

“Oh, it usually is.  I don’t like any of the girls this season, ever since Demi went home.”

“Demi?”

Her nails scratch along his scalp and he scoots closer to her with another bite.  “She’s from Texas and was the first to kiss Colton.”

“Colton sounds like a loser.”

“Everyone is a loser to you.”

That’s a fair point and she continues, “At least you’re honest about it, though.”

“Honesty is the best policy.”  He prides himself on characteristics like that, even when they’re hard to stomach.  

“Be honest with me then.  What’s going on?”

There it is.  There’s no easy way to say something in the vein of, “My mental illness is making me drown.”

So he opts for, “Depressed.  Strung out.” It’s not ultimate exposure, given that Kylo doesn’t desire to make her run for the hills with a confession of bipolar disorder.  Not when he still feels so much shame after three years.

She doesn’t seem to show the pity he fears, only combing through his hair more while twisting strands around her finger.  “Is this about the album?”

Everything is about the album.  

His entire life is pain reflected in a discography.

“I can’t write fast enough.”

The pad of her index finger wipes something away from his upper lip.  “I listened to Silencer.”

Of course, she’d listen to his post-overdose metal rock.  She continues, “As much as people want to discredit you, you’ve managed to make poetry out of rock music.”

Kylo would fuck her right now if he could.  His music in her ears gives him a sick sense of pride.

“Which song did you like?”

Anything but the song he’s thinking of.

“Torn Apart.”

Fuck.

He can’t help but rub along his cheeks and struggle with a cleansing breath.  Leave it to him to throw his vulnerability out to bleed on an operating table.  Most people didn’t get the point of the song, most people skip it since it includes the most screaming on the entirety of Silencer.

Rey kneels down in front of him and forces him to look at her with a finger beneath his chin.  “I promise you that I really liked it. I run to it at the gym.”

“Glad my pain is a gym ballad.”  Kylo doesn’t mean to be harsh, immediately regretting saying it.  

“Not just at the gym, I’ve had it on a loop the past few days because I missed-”

The way she stops her words wounds.  “Missed what.”

Her mouth opens but shuts and he pushes further, “Tell me, baby-girl.”

Exasperated, “I was worried about you.”

Rey has missed him.  What the fuck is wrong with him?

As if it didn’t sting enough, “No one was telling me what was going on.  I thought the worst.”

Everyone knows what the worst could be with him: dead on the floor with vomit in his lungs and a syringe beside him.  Kylo is too delicate and too much for this world in the form of a tumultuous storm, something that pains pretty girls like Rey.

He doesn’t want to hurt her.

Not anymore.

“I’m sorry.”

He makes sure the sincerity drips from the words, carefully holding just under her chin to mend things with messy stitches that rival the time he sliced his arms parallel with a shard of glass to get the drugs he wanted.

Kylo is a monster, a creature that goes bump in the night and feasts on the flesh of the people who just want him to be okay.  He aspires to be anything but for her sake, if he has any reason to.

“It’s okay-”

“It’s not.  I’ll make sure I let you know when I...do the isolation thing.”

What a topic to talk about in therapy the next time he bothers to go.  Maybe it’ll lessen the sensitive strain of his feelings, or appease the girl who looks up at him with so much tenderness.

Something inside echoes, _“She’s not yours.”_

Rey will never be a real partner, their lifespan ruled to be a year.  She won’t renew the contract. Why would she?

“Your nose ring is out.”

A welcome departure from the heaviness.  He searches for the septum ring, only to remember he has a retainer shoved up into his nostrils.  How could he forget a feeling like that? Reaching deftly into his nose, he pulls it out and adjusts it straight.

“There it is.  I was worried.”

He glances over her body, eyes landing on the silver chain around her neck.  Reaching up, he delicately reaches beneath the collar of her sweatshirt to pull out the dog tag he gave her on their last arranged date.  Can you consider something so impersonal to be a date?

Leave it to Han Solo to remain on her neck past his welcome.  He slides it back beneath her shirt without a word. Hesitantly, ”Can I…”

The way her bottom lip pouts has his knees spreading a little more than their natural rest, fingers remaining to splay over her sides.   ”Can I cuddle with you?” In all of his twenty-nine years of life, he never thought the word “cuddle” would leave his lips. Especially to a creature like Rey.

Kylo never asks for things, especially fluffier requests like this.  His therapist will scream about his vast improvement while he feels like a piece of paper ready to be ripped to shreds.  She answers by climbing into his lap on her own volition, their faces close. Kylo would kiss her if there were cameras, he would leave little bruises on the column of her throat to entice tweets and Instagram likes.  His fingers opt to trace along the cut of her cheekbone.  “I deleted my Twitter.”

His eyes flick up hands trailing along the dips of her hips to pull her even closer to him.  They’re touching at this point. “Why?”

Twitter is a soulless place for people like them, especially for girls so green to what this life entails.  “Too many people looking at me.”

Who wouldn’t want to look at her?  With bright chartreuse eyes and small clusters of freckles dotting her nose and cheeks; not to mention her perfectly shaped cupid’s bow and full bottom lip, or the way she sheepishly smiles at him.

“I hopped off of that hell site a long time ago.” Kylo isn’t one to sugarcoat himself; Twitter makes that hard when everyone has an opinion on every word you say.  Her forehead leans against his, eyes fluttering shut with a shuddering breath. He continues, “I would tell you it gets easier, but that wouldn’t be true.”

“I just want to be on screen and do my job.”

“You will.  People will still have things to say about you.”

“I think it’s worse because most of your fans are angry guys or teen girls.”  Why does he even do well with the girl demographic? People will listen to what they look to, but what is appealing about him to younger girls?

“What are they saying to you?”

Kylo will snoop if he has to, even get Phasma to get in touch with their Twitter contact to ruin some lives and internet presences.  “It’s not huge.”

“Kinda is, given that you deleted.”

“I mean I have thin skin, so it really isn’t.”

“You’re so fucking pretty Rey, no one else has a right to tell you otherwise.”

That gives her a lengthy pause, opening her eyes again to lean off his forehead.  “You’re only just saying that-”

“I think we both know that I don’t just say things.  Honesty is the best policy, baby-girl.” He presses harder just beneath her ribs to prove his point with a twinge of discomfort.  

Her sigh is frustrating.  “How do I prove it?”

Her brows furrow, “Prove what?”

“That you’re pretty.”

Kylo loves it when she flushes, spreading down her neck and across her chest.  “I don’t know, it’s not something you can really prove-”

He’s easing her off of him and onto the bed, standing up while trying to shake out his shoulders before bending down to open the guitar case.  Dragging out the guitar, he checks by ear to make sure the strings are tuned to his liking. “What are you doing?”

Clearing his throat, he strums the guitar once.  Then twice before crooning, “You’re so pretty.”

“Kylo.”

“You’re so goddamn pretty, it’s unfair to everyone.”

“Stop it.”

“You snap necks when you walk down the street because people look at you so swift.  Why? Because you’re so beautiful.” He drags out the note to her embarrassment, her hands hiding her face while she shakes with small giggles.

“It’s so unfair in the way your eyes shine, I’d build your body a shrine.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re in a crewneck sweatshirt and while I might totally roast someone for it, you’re so fucking cute I can’t stand it.”

“Kylo, please.”

“Why should I listen to you while I’m strumming an ode to you?  Now for the chorus.” He strums a little key change to build momentum.

“There’s a chorus?  Did you plan this?”

“No I’m just really good at music but...look at you, someone would be so stupid to make fun of you.  Twitter doesn’t mean shit when people would get on their knees for you.” His voice is rougher due to lack of warm up, and she’s getting up to settle her hand over the neck of his guitar. Usually, he’d shove someone for the cardinal sin, but he compromises.

Turning, he delicately sets the instrument back in the guitar case, shutting it with a nudge of his foot.  “I’ve never had a boy write an impromptu song for me in my bedroom.”

“Have a lot of boys in here?”  He’s never one to shame sexual liberation; if Rey is getting some, good for her.

Rey bites her lip, “Not lately.”

“Good, because I’m a man, and you deserve better than boys.”

She rolls her eyes before setting her mouth in a straight line.  Then, “Prove it.”

A challenge; he likes those.  “How?”

Her coyness is so frustrating, how she shuffles her feet and looks at the floor.  Since when is she shy? “Come on Miss Actress, you can’t get the part unless you read for me.”  

“Pick me up.”  It’s so quiet that he didn’t think he heard her right until she steps even closer and holds out her arms.  Kylo tries to push himself as little as possible, including lifting more than he has to. His doctor said he could blow a disk, but nothing stops him from grabbing under her thighs and heaving her into his arms with minimal teeth grinding pain.

The happy look that flits across her features makes it worth it.  “I quite like this.”

“Yeah?”  She’s easy to hold up, clearing his head easily.

”Yes.  Now kiss me.”

There are no cameras, only organic and thrumming intimacy that makes his heart thump a million miles a second.  He hesitates for too long before she shifts in his grip and dips her head down. “Please?”

His voice is soft, “If I do, I won’t be able to stop.”

A beat.

“Then don’t.”

Their lips crash together, a tide breaking on the beach.  Her fingers knot in the strands of his hair, pulling as her mouth opens up for him to make a home inside.  Sex numbs pain, emotional or physical, until nothing matters.

Soft lips on his are the only thing he can begin to give a shit about, easing onto his knees on top of the mattress and dropping her on her back.  The chain reaction causes their lips to detach so she can look up at him with a gaping mouth and steadying inhales.

“Let me touch-”  His hand clamps over her mouth while he works her sweatpants down her hips, pushing her legs apart on either side of his knees.  No panties grace her torso, a small thatch of brown hair on top of her pubic bone in comparison to the bare he experienced the last time.  If he’s being honest with himself, any state of Rey’s body hair is equally sexy to him.

Especially given that most of the tail he used to get was waxed within an inch of its life.

When the waistband of her sweats hit her knees, he removes his hand from her mouth.  “Tell me what you want.”

He wants to please her, become the be all end all for her.  Kylo wants to own the throne of being her best sexual partner, the best man who fucked the brains out of her.  He knows what he wants to do, he just wants to hear her say it.

“Your mouth.”

Good girl.

He makes more room for himself between her legs, flattening down on his front and rubbing his thumb between her folds to collect wetness.  The digit finds its way into his mouth to taste, relishing the subtle sourness and acidity that has become a drug of its own.

“You’re obscene.”

“Thanks.”

He wants to stand out but there’s a high pressure to perform.  To alleviate some of it, “Can you turn on music?”

Curse him for being so auditory, hating silence.  It reminds him of when he was younger, wandering around their New York apartment while his mother was away in DC with his father at some legislative bullshit session.  Kylo was always alone growing up; no time for real friends with piano practice and homework and all the extracurriculars he got shoved into to waste his free time so he wouldn’t be home.  His parents didn’t want him.

Rey wants him though, that should be enough to sate the screaming being inside.

“What band?”

He doesn’t think about it, “D2Tones.  Specifically off Saturday Night Awoo.” Something slow would suit them and get him out of his head.

The soft dulcet guitar begins to pluck,  and he hyper fixates on the act at hand and keeps the music in his cerebrum.  Hunching down, despite the soreness and muscle spasms, his tongue swipes to get a mouthful of her.

He hooks around her thighs to keep her spread, knees flopping over his biceps.  Then he digs in, tongue starting off with a slow flick to her clit. The way her leg twitches spurs him to continue, past the point of comfort and feeling like his spine will cave.

Any pain is worth it for her, for her whining and writhing in his grip and beneath his mouth.  He licks her until his chin is slick, until the prominent bridge of his nose bunts into her and he can’t discern the taste of his own mouth in comparison to hers.

It’s heaven, beyond that into a level of rapture that makes potential death okay.  He’d be willing to die like this.

It’s better than any other way he’s contemplated.

She cracks on a moan, stifled in her palm.  “Louder. Let me hear you.” He doesn’t bother to remove his tongue, rumbling the order into her as he grips her thighs harder.  She should be able to feel him with every single step she takes for the next few days.

He’ll come back when she can’t recall the twinges of pain, just to remind her how good it could be.  The cycle could go on forever.

“Don’t leave me.”

That’s a rapid change of pace, like pulling the reverse on high speed so the car stalls and smokes.  “Please don’t leave me.”

The begging makes him pull off of her, swiftly moving up her body to pull her convulsing body to his chest and sitting back on his knees.  The situation has flipped on a head faster than whiplash, tears soaking into his sweatshirt. “They all hate me.”

Where is this coming from?  One moment he’s munching on her soul through her pussy and the next he’s witnessing a breakdown that reminds him of his own.  More crying plagues her panic attacks while his are just heightened yelling and violence that makes anyone clear a room.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

He sways with her, almost like a mother trying to rock a baby back to sleep.  Not that he would know what it would feel like; his parents probably threw him at a nanny or in a swing.  “Nothing is wrong with you.”

He’s shushing her while burying his face in her hair.  “They all say I’m a nobody. That I’m nothing.” She wheezes after she says it and he’s so bad at comforting people that it chips at his frail psyche.

“Not to me.”  He repeats the three words into her hair like a mantra, a prayer to ward away those who shriek evil.  The way she whimpers against him is heartbreaking, smearing snot along his shoulder as she adjusts even closer to him.

Kylo shuts down with her, holding her so tightly against him that he could break her in two.

After all, the world has already started the work.

✕✕✕✕✕✕✕✕✕✕✕✕✕✕✕✕✕✕✕✕✕✕✕✕✕✕✕✕✕✕✕✕✕

There’s a lot of things that went wrong with this night.

Plenty.  Given that something is still bothering Kylo to the point of not eating or sleeping very well.  

Or that she opened up her phone screen a day ago and saw her body being compared to a girl like Oola Noza, who Kylo’s apparently fucked according to a lot of rumors and hearsay.  She understands why; Oola is all effortless curves and probably soft skin, a natural talent for being photographed and sponsored on Instagram.

Something got to Rey about that, about how her body was crossed out and the tweet was so cruel:

 **@kylossun** : i think we all know that kylo is settling for less right?

The comments below weren’t any better.  While Rey would normally not give a single fuck about people’s perceptions of being Kylo’s girlfriend or the petty comparisons in response to it, this cut so deep.  

Twitter won and she deactivated late last night, defeated and tired of feeling so stupid or unworthy.  She just wants to be enough for herself, not living for a man who chameleons into nice until he can be cruel again.

Rey hates him.  Or she’s supposed to.

Insecurity crept up on her this morning, realizing that he could be not texting him back because he’s fucking the sense out of some other girl.  Rey doesn’t want to fuck him. Well, she didn’t, or maybe she does at this current moment.

Especially as his index finger traces along each notch of her spine in a monotonous rhythm, still reminding her that he’s there and he’s awake with her.  She doesn’t know if she still wants him to go to bed, given that he kisses her head or temples or cheeks or neck…

Kylo knows how to be such an angel with a Satan exterior, proving himself easily by building a nest of blankets and pillows around them.  He’s too big for her queen bed (and her world), so they’re close together and at a diagonal to accommodate him.

All of this is welcome, along with her laptop open on the nightstand that plays continuing episodes of Twin Peaks.

Kylo put it on, she’s half paying attention to the visuals and more to the soft dulcet of the scores or how it’s just fucking strange that they’re acting like a couple at one-thirty in the morning.  The lights are even off, only a weakened LED IKEA bedside light providing a glow like none other.

Anything in that direction is shadowed by his back until he unwinds from her and sits up in the bed.  The mattress squeaks and her hand flashes to grip his to make him remain.

Didn’t she tell him to stay?  What is he doing?

His lips are on the shell of her ear before kissing on top of her cheekbone.  “I’ll still be right here.” Her heart stills its panic, eyes refocusing back on the screen with her ears to detect what he’s doing.  He unzips his backpack, rifles through it, and a corner of something nudges her leg. Then the smell of marijuana hits her nostrils, getting her to sit up and confirm her suspicions.

A binder lays flat by her calves, rolling papers on it and ounce container open and frozen in his hands.  If Rey weren’t moving in a week, she’d chastise him or tell him to take it outside.

Fuck it.  Her lack of care is evident in the way she takes the container and shoves her nose in it to inhale the intoxicating aroma.  Weed isn’t her specialty, never will be, but the earthiness and tang that tickles the back of her head with pine is comforting her.  Her eyes almost roll back into her head.

“You like it?  It's Bubba Fett.”

His raven hair is sticking up every which way, looking as if he’s just rolled out of bed.   There’s no answer when she hands the container back to him, but she can’t help but nuzzle into his shoulder blade.  “I’ll roll you something.”

Rey isn’t the type to smoke when feeling this bad, but maybe it’ll take her out of her head.  “We could both sleep.”

Sleep.  The word sounds so dirty to her ears, a luxury for their lines of work.  Closing her eyes means that he could take off whenever he wanted. Rey could lose him again.

“God knows I’ll be out like a light.  I haven’t smoked in a few days.”

How peculiar for him, given that she never sees him without a joint of a container of weed.

“You want some?”

She nods her head as soon as he says it, eyes peeking over his shoulder to watch his hands begin their work.  He’s got strong hands, palms large and able to grip down on her like an alligator. Watching him roll seems like a feat of nature, given how and precise the entire operation is.

Kylo can play piano and guitar so maybe it’s not that shocking.  “Your sheets smell really good.”

Her voice is hoarse, “You smell really good.”

Because he does.  Kylo smells shower clean and edged with past warm and spicy cologne from the worn down hoodie that’s on her bedroom floor.  His skin is so warm and soothing, and he’s like a teddy bear that’s made for her.

If teddy bears bit.

If he’s shocked by her sudden ability of speech, he doesn’t show it.  “You taste really good too. It's unfair.”

A lot of other things fall into the category of not fair, but she stays quiet.  His breathing pacifies her further, sniffles receding. “Does your back hurt when I do this?”

As much as she hates him sometimes, she doesn’t want to inflict further pain on someone who already deals with a daily baseline of it.  “A little. Don’t stop though.”

She’s apprehensive as she eases a little off of him.  “Do you want an Advil?” The question sounds even more stupid when she vocalizes it.  Advil wouldn’t work for someone so seasoned for him.

His answer is unpredictable.  “I can’t take painkillers.”

She knows why but for some reason, she asks, “Why not?”

Kylo licks the seam of the paper and rolls it over flawlessly.  She has to admit she’s a little jealous, letting her digits tap over each rib with so much delicacy that you would think she’s tickling a new baby.  “My stomach is really fucked up from overdosing so much. Lots of chemicals don’t work with me.”

Rey doesn’t want to get so unnecessarily tender, to mimic talking by a roaring fire about each and every transgression in their lives.  She still speaks, “How many times did you-”

“Five.  I died on the fifth one, like fully flatlined, until they shot me with some adrenaline.  By some sick joke, I revived.”

“Jesus.”

“I didn’t see him.”

“What did you see then?”

“Just black.”

That’s horrifying, along with his casual tone as he says it before slotting the joint between his lips to light.  He sucks in, inhaling smoke before handing it off to her with a steady stream of smoke leaving his nostrils. Rey’s not very good at smoking, especially in front of someone so experienced with such a taboo act.

Yeah its legal in California, but there’s still something a little scary about it.  She’s a big girl and if she’s gonna get comfortably high, he’d be the best candidate to watch.  

The smoke flows from her mouth, holding out the joint for him to take.  “It’s all yours, I’m gonna roll another one.”

“Are you sure?”

Rey hates to take things from him, given that she doesn’t give him anything but touch and pain.  “Definitely, you’re so cold though.”

Cold?  Is she being that frigid?  Is she unfeeling?

The words loop around her head for the five seconds it takes for him to shift to face her slowly and pushes the duvet cover open to push her under and prop her up on her mountain of pillows.  She’s careful not to drop the joint as he jostles her, even when he kisses right between her brows in a way that would make any girl melt.

_It’s not real, Rey._

She doesn’t want it to be.

She takes a drag instead of remarking on that, his back facing her again as he gets to work.  

There’s no way that she can get with him.

It would never work.

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i normally have stuff to say but i'm drawing a blank. thank you for reading.
> 
> feedback is welcome @ [twitter](https://twitter.com/dankobah) and [tumblr](https://dankobah.tumblr.com/).
> 
> chapter title is inspired by ["a little death" by the neighbourhood](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LHeN3RXvCxg)
> 
> fashion:  
> [kylo's socks](https://www.modsock.com/products/im-dead-inside-unisex-crew-socks)  
> [kylo's shoes](https://www.adidas.com/us/continental-80-shoes/G27707.html)  
> [big bend sweater](https://www.parksproject.us/products/big-bend-watershed-crew-fleece-sweatshirt)  
> [what song is "fair weather friends"?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wq9ujkyAH78)  
> [who are D2Tones based off of and what song?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A4CTVNEhXLs)  
> [this may or may not be the playlist for this fic](https://open.spotify.com/user/qdd1slh46u20clqlu8vmgbohu/playlist/2q7Lv2bTC7rGqEFPgzhqGZ?si=oq6UpPPeR-2vhQ53tr7t9w)


	10. open up my eager eyes ('cause I'm mr. brightside)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you want to smoke a joint?”
> 
> Rey shouldn’t imbibe or let him roll one when he’ll be on stage in less than thirty minutes, but she can never stop him. So she lets him sit up, hearing his back pop and crack in a sick way that makes her cringe while he sighs in relief. 
> 
> “That didn’t sound good.”
> 
> “It wasn’t but it felt brilliant. Do me a favor?”
> 
> She’s cautious, “Sure.”
> 
> **There’s no hesitation, “Give me your panties.”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **triggers:**  
>  drug use  
> mentions of drug abuse  
> sad breakup shit  
> yikes what do i even put here besides the typical shit

They didn’t talk about what happened.

Why would you talk about such an embarrassing lapse of control?  Especially an occurrence during sex that left her unable to get up in the morning or even lift her head from where she buried it into the pillow.

His sweetness didn’t stop, the kiss on top of her head making her stomach churn with unidentifiable anxiety.  Was he going to leave her permanently after such a physical panic attack?

“I’ll text you.  We can do something this week.”

It meant traipsing into public and worrying about the dissection of her outfit choice or how she holds his hand-

Her phone decides to ignite at the right time during her mental spiral, brushing her teeth and cutting off the Spotify app that was playing “imagine” by the Aalya Gunray.  Rey’s not a sentimental girl, not mushy for an untamed wildebeest like him, but her heart flutters when he texts because its a chance to get out of her house and head. Life is prettier with him, a celebrity daydream that’s in sight but she can’t seem to obtain.

Rey wants to be _something_ while he sits pretty as **someone** though it looks like a miserable existence when he portrays it.

The notifications on her screen are either texts, google alerts or the twitter news items that she still gets notifications for.  All of them are in the same vein of information that makes her jolt to unlock her phone and read more.

**The Knights of Ren are putting on a secret show at the El Rey Theater and tickets have sold out in minutes!**

Instagram turns out to be a hellscape, the comments beneath the gritty announcement photo (a guitar with a sticky note on the face) make her cringe.

 _jacobosprincess:_ ugh, tried to get KOR tix and everyone bought them.  fuck high school :(

 _kyloismydaddy:_ groupies by the bus ladies?  gotta keep tradition

 _kylorey4ever:_ @kyloismydaddy he has a girlfriend 🙄

 _kyloismydaddy:_ who's to say she'll be there lmao

Rey wants to be smug, to reply with an “I will be there.”

Though she stops because she’s not sure she will be.  All the tickets are sold out, and Kylo doesn’t seem like the type to exclude tickets or exceed capacity for her especially since he’s getting a cool seventy-five percent of his earnings.

The text she flips to gives her a long pause.

**Kylo:**

**Morning**

**Call me**

**Now preferably**

That was sent only six minutes before her scrolling and she scrambles before thinking.  Slamming her finger on the call button, she throws the phone onto speaker and sets it off to the side so she can multitask and press the water from her hair.  

The line clicks after two rings.  “Hey.”

Thank god he speaks first, Rey appreciating the gravelly tone that is unbecoming of someone about to go on stage in t-minus six hours.  “Hi. Secret show, huh?”

His hesitation is short, “Impromptu.  You like El Rey?” Rey shrugs to herself while tipping her head down and wrapping her hair up into a towel.  The El Rey is a classic theater in Los Angeles, some of the greats haunting its walls. Now its a place for LA’s youngest to act like kings and queens of obscure music taste.

“It’s small.”

“Intimate, yeah.  Wanna come?”

Her brows knit together.  She didn’t have to ask? Or she wasn’t required to?  What a shock given their current predicament. “Is there enough space-”

“I set aside about ten tickets if you want them.”

Ten?  That’s enough for a family to go, though he’ll never be family friendly.  “I need an answer, and I have to go gargle salt water since my throat is fucked.”

The pressure makes her decision quick.  “Yes, I’ll need three plus me. Feel free to give out the other ones.”

“Say no more. I’ll text you the way to get in with as little drama as possible.”  There would be drama?

She’s reconsidering her yes when he clears his throat, “People can get a little crazy with my girlfriends.  Just want you to stay safe.”

The confession is so quiet and careful that she can’t help her snark, as much as she tries to hold it back.  “Awww, Solo do you care about me?”

Rey doesn’t know why she wants to call him Ben Solo.  His Wikipedia displays it proudly and she assumes it’s still his legal name.  She’s never gotten a glimpse of his credit card to verify. Ben is less harsh than Kylo, and Solo is befitting for a loner like him.

She also has to admit that Ben is a lovely name, meaning hope.

There’s a telling sound of gargling on the line, Rey covering her mouth to keep from laughing.  He spits and then speaks, “Ren, and I don’t. More about your face and how it can bruise.” That's still caring.  She stares in the mirror, leaning forward to assess her profile and the budding zit right on the tip of her nose. If Rey were smart, she’d cancel right now and treat this thing.  

He interrupts her thoughts with, “You should wear latex again.”

The giggle that escapes her mouth is schoolgirl to a T.  “To a concert? No thanks. I'll plan a good outfit.”

“You can drop by mine for a t-shirt if you'd like.”

“Are you asserting your dominance, Ben?”

“Kylo, and yes.  Do you like that?”

Rey groans at the clear invitation for phone sex or stroking his ego.  “Sure.”

“Call me daddy then.”

“I hate you.  I have to go. What time should I get there?”  The time frame couldn’t be more compressed, given LA traffic and the prep that Rose and Jessika would need.  That’s not including the amount of time that Rey would need to plan a suitable outfit.

His hum makes her stomach twist up.  She hates him. She despises him, even as she presses her legs together and wraps another towel around her body.  “Five. I need time with you before I go on.”

“Time with me?”

“Yes.  Did I stutter?”

“We’ll see about that.  Bye Ben.”

“It’s Kylo-”

Rey hangs up on him before he can finish his sentence, and without missing a beat or wasting time, “Rose!”

There’s a slam of a door down the hall and the pad of quick feet.  “Rey? Did you fall in the shower-”

Rey opens the door, making sure the towel is safe around her.  Rose looks her up and down, eyebrows furrowing.

“We’re going to a concert and we have a lot of work to do.”

✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎

Outside of the theater is overwhelmingly crowded, photographers and fans pushing themselves towards the entrance or will-call with a fervor akin to a shaken jar of bees.  “Jesus, how are we gonna get through that?”

Jessika is smoking a cigarette, one of those American Spirit ones that she insists are better for her.  Any smoke flooding alveoli wouldn’t be the best treatment, but Jessika Pava is a force to be reckoned with when it comes to habits.  Rey smooths out the front of the band tee that hits just two inches beneath the bottom of her breasts, cutting Kylo’s face off at only his eyes.

She swears he’s deliberate in the merch t-shirts he loans her, making sure his face is all over her like a wolfy claim.  “We won’t. Can you take us to the alley behind the theater please?” Chewie is still menacing to her, despite giving no reason to be worried.  If Kylo trusts him to drive him, she should trust the man.

The silence puts her on edge, especially when the car whips into a turn lane despite aggressive honking behind them.  “Jesus Christ.” Finn is rubbing along his jaw as he says it, a sorry loser in the backseat with Rose and Jessika. His hand is intertwined with Rose’s smaller ones, so naturally that they look as if they’ve been together for fifteen years instead of one.  

Rey envies them, given that she’s only got her fake boyfriend, a binder full of monologues, and an external hard drive of reels.  Being an actor seems to be solitary; for a girl alone for most of her life, it’s a fact that’s hard to swallow. “I’m shocked you get VIP treatment, given that he’s Kylo Ren.”

Her defense is rehearsed, “Despite popular rhetoric, he’s not an evil guy.”  Sometimes he’s Satan incarnate, but Rey doesn’t dwell on the days she hates him.  This is not one of those days.

“We’ll see.”

Finn’s skepticism bothers her but she locks her phone instead of chewing him out.  Chewie heaves the car half onto the curb to idle out of traffic’s way. The simultaneous click of seatbelts signifies their hasty departure.  “Thanks, Chewie.” He nods at her, eyes hidden behind pitch dark sunglasses. Come to think of it; she’s never seen his eyes before. Rey slams the passenger door, shifting her high-waisted leggings on her hips, so they sit right.  

“You look like you’re getting ready for a dick appointment.”

Jessika’s assessment makes Rey’s cheeks flame and Rose breaks into squealing laughter, clutching onto Finn’s plain white t-shirt.  He’s unamused by the wisecrack, and Rey takes the liberty to lead the way. The smell of cigarettes is rife in the air, a large security guard standing behind the back entrance.  It resembles a giant garage, probably to load band equipment in and out.

He looks them up and down, glancing over to another bald man with a sour look on his face.  Rey rifles through the leg pocket of her leggings, pulling out her ID.

“Bruise.”

The bouncer’s face shifts at the password, obviously recalling a ribbing from her boyfriend-not-boyfriend.  She wonders idly if Kylo is bigger than him before a gravelly voice interrupts, “This is the three in your party?”

Party?  Was this fucking dungeons and dragons or something?  If so, she’d be a Paladin.

“Yes.  Finn, Rose, Jessika.”  She points each of them out before setting her face into a serious expression.  “Can we go in now? I don’t want to be late.” Rey tries her hardest to be intimidating in the face of people arguably better at the task.  

Maz says its because she’s the kindling on the gasoline-soaked logs; Rey argues survival instincts.  He moves aside without a word, sizing her up and down as Rey’s beat up red converse stomp past him. The inside of the venue is cold, the backstage an old and windy area that’s packed with all sorts of extra equipment and carts.  There’s an armada of guitars on a single rack, one labeled with a sticky note that says “break this one.”

Oh, they’re in for a treat if Kylo is in that kind of mood. Rey finally spots a familiar face, bleach blonde hair sticking out like a sore thumb in the dim of the backstage.  Jacobo. “Hey!” She feels stupid for calling after a man she barely knows but it works to get his attention.

“Oh wow,”  Jessika mumbles under her breath, and Rey glances back at her.  The girl resembles a lioness hunting prey, and he mimics a passive lion.  He strides over, looking more at Jessika than Rey.

“You’re Rey, right?”

Clearing her throat, “Yes, hi.  Where’s Kylo?” He’s requested her presence after all.

“Green room, three doors down and on the left.  He’s…”

The trailing off isn’t a good sign and Rey takes a long and cleansing breath.  “Okay, thanks. Rose and Finn, you guys can explore.” She’s committed never to let Kylo meet them, worried about the snap judgments he’d make.

“Sure.  Meet up with us at 5:55.”

Finn sounds like a father as he requests it, and Rose is the cool mom in the way she says, “Or whenever you want.  Wouldn’t blame you for wanting to be backstage.”

Rey makes a point to single out.  “Thanks, Rose.”

Without another look back at the happy couple, she traipses the way that Jacobo told her.  She has no clue what she’s going to do upon entering his lair. Knocking on the door is a good start, her raps tentative.

“Come in.”

Kylo doesn’t have to tell her twice.  She pushes the door open with her foot, stepping into the smokey room.  The fumes of marijuana hang thick in the air, and Rey wrinkles her nose in habit.  What concerns her is how he lays on his stomach, face smashed into a pillow with a grinder on the table next to him.  Rockstars could get away with anything.

“Pre-show ritual?”

Somehow she keeps the snark out, watching him slowly wriggle to sit up.  “My fucking back hurts.”

That’s the mood Jacobo was talking about, an everlasting pain that will persist until he dies.  Rey would do anything to take it away. Mainly because it contributes to his crabbiness; or because she cares about him.

She’ll never reveal which one.  

“I’m sorry.”  Sitting next to him is habitual, as is touching between his shoulder blades with the most delicate touch.  He leans into her a little, making it a point not to put his full weight on her. Rey reaches to card her fingers through his hair.  “You can lay on me. I don’t mind.”

Kylo takes the offer immediately, laying back so his head is in her lap.  They make eye contact, then his eyes flit to her shirt. “Scandalous, Niima.  What will the public say?”

Thinking about that will kill her mood.  “I dunno. You have snakebites?” She just noticed the black spike horseshoes protruding from his dark pink lips.  She envies his complexion and how black looks so harsh but beautiful on him. Rey feels off in black, preferring ethereal white.  

“I do.  I have a lot of piercings, Rey.”

“And a lot of tattoos.  I like this arm.” His muscle tee allows her fingers to trace across koi fish and cherry blossoms, swirling around a dragon that coils just above his wrist.

“They were done traditionally.  Irezumi.”

Rey ignores the term and keeps trailing over the winding dragon that mimics his back.  “I like it when you wear your hair like this.” She reaches up to touch the small bun on her head, half up and down.  It’s considered to be messy in her eyes.

“Thank you.”

“Anytime baby girl.”

Her cheeks run hot and she leans down to kiss his forehead with the utmost care and tenderness that is against the grain for their arrangement.”

“For good luck.” She cites, rubbing her thumb along the hollow of his cheekbone.  She can’t give him all of her, she will never entertain the idea.

“I’m seasoned at this.  I could probably do this with my eyes closed.”

“I’m excited to see what you do.  I’ve never been to a KOR show.”

“You’re picking up the lingo.  That’s so cute.”

“Don’t mock me.”

“Is it mocking when it’s true?”

That gives her pause before she hums and keeps carding through his hair.  Rey vows not to think about it. “What are you playing?”

“It’s a secret.”  He starts to sit up but Rey places her hand on his chest to stop him.  

“Take it easy.”  

“Vocal warm-ups.”

“Ten minutes.”

There’s no argument as he shifts even deeper into the leather cushions and sighs.  The door opens and Rey nearly jumps. Kylo is used to this, turning his head in her lap to look over.  “Bastiaan.”

The man is a brunette, wearing significantly more makeup than Kylo.  Eyeliner and mascara grace his eyes, along with black lipstick smeared across his lips.  There’s a nod of acknowledgment at the both of them before he puts the airpod back into his ear and walks over to the green room spread.  “He’s quiet. Don’t take offense.”

“Understood.  Drummer, right?”

“Best one in the business, but I’m biased.”  She can’t help but grin down at him before taking a deep breath to compose.  

His anxiety presents first, “These things get a tiny bit wild.”

“How so?”  Rey’s not well versed in small rock shows.    

Kylo visibly contemplates telling her and she wants to pinch him to pull the information.  He gives it on a silver platter, “Mosh pits. Usually, people get in fights outside of that.  Also, you’re gorgeous and my girlfriend-”

Rey interrupts, “So some teenage girl is gonna try to jump me.”  She’s not looking to gouge some girls eyes out in the dark, especially when it’s his fault for being a previously available sex god.

“No, more like some guy is gonna try to touch you and I’m gonna have to fling myself from the stage to kill him.”

She can’t help but scoff.  “No need. Finn’s a guard dog today.”  That’s why Finn and Kylo will never cross paths; mainly for her sanity and need for peace.

“Well, I’m a shark-”

“Don’t do your whole ‘I’m the manliest man to ever man’ act.  You focus on performing, I can handle myself.”

Kylo holds up his hands in defense before trying to sit up again.  “I told you no.”

“Do you want to smoke a joint?”

Rey shouldn’t imbibe or let him roll one when he is on stage in less than thirty minutes, but she can never stop him.  So she allows him to sit up, hearing his back pop and crack in a sick way that makes her cringe while he sighs in relief. “That didn’t sound good.”

“It wasn’t but it felt brilliant.  Do me a favor?”

She’s cautious, “Sure.”

There’s no hesitation, “Give me your panties.”

Her legs snap shut in response, despite her leggings protecting her.  “Why?” There’s plenty of reasons why she wouldn’t but she’d love to hear his logic.

“Because you’re a good girl and you should do what I say.”  Rey bursts into laughter, doubling over while he stares at her like she has six heads.  Maybe she does, or she hopes she does so she won’t have to get undressed in front of him this early in the day.  “You act as if I’ll give up.”

“I can hold out like the best of them.”

“I’ll give them back eventually, I’m not a complete savage.  Just a good luck charm.”

Good luck charm.  As if her panties were a rabbit’s foot.

What’s the harm in being bad?

She stands up, rolling her leggings off her lower half.  Kylo adjusts to the edge of the couch, unable to keep his lips off just beneath her navel.  “God, you look so fucking good.”

The black thong comes off and lands in his lap.  “Good fucking girl. I love your body.”

“You're only nice because I gave you what you want.”

“I'm nice because you’re everything I want.”

✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎

Standing while high is a little hard, Finn seems to notice her sudden inebriation or how her legs subconsciously press together every three seconds to stop the fluttering at the junction of her thighs.  How dare he take her panties while she wears leggings? Where did he even put them?

Jessika is next to her, peering at her with owlish speculation.  Jessika is one to speculate, given the dark purple hickeys that begin to bloom across the exposure of her breasts.  Rey speaks first, “Was he nice to you?”

Jacobo could rival Kylo in roughness, though Rey is expecting a hoarse voice and welts across her ass once he’s off stage.  He still has her panties so she’ll need to fight him for them.

“Very nice.  You look hazy, babe.”  Jessika is leaning over to talk close to her ear, unable to hear over the din of the packed theater.  They’re all nearly shoulder to shoulder, Rey and co off to the wall that gives her easy access out of the pit if she needs to.

The security guard from earlier is watching her like a hawk, and she assumes he’s the one to airlift her if things go awry.  She’d prefer Chewie.

“I feel super hazy.  Are you guys gonna go out again?”

Perhaps Jacobo and Jessika can double date and be real by proxy.

Rey doesn’t even want this thing to be real.  

Definitely not.

The lights drop at that moment, pushing the small theater into pitch darkness and alarming sounds rise.

The noises are quickly deafened by the harsh crackle of a mic and a higher pitched voice cutting through the din, “I only lie when I love you.”

The crowd loses it when the electric guitar cuts in, drums crashing down with it and there he is.  Kylo Ren, infamous rock brat in the flesh, is in his natural element. He’s playing a glossy red electric guitar, the one that previously had a tacked on sticky note demanding that it get broken.  

_I only lie when I love you_

_I only crawl when I hit the ground_

_You only cry when I love you_

_I only lie when I make a sound_

The song is catchy and not so grating on her ears, and the crowd is alive with screaming and some are even jumping.  There’s certainly a lot of headbanging also. Rey focuses on only him, eyes never leaving and barely blinking despite the burn of the red and white strobes.  He’s alive, looking as whole as ever while playing an electric guitar and owning the stage.

_Pull your hair, make me shout_

_It's just that you insisted I was good for nothing_

_Like you were onto something._

Rey can’t help but bob her head along with the monotonous drumbeat clattering behind the cacophony of other sounds.  Bastiaan also seems to be just as alive, resembling feral as he drums. The entire group looks feral, on edge and ready to shake you by your spine and never let go.

_Go ahead, pull the plug_

_Broken finger, sticky trigger_

_Now I can't get it off my chest_

_And now I'm wishing you were someone else_

_You know I'm up to something._

Kylo looks like he’s on something, akin to a stimulant or forty energy drinks.  He’s enormous, stage presence and body wise in comparison to his bandmates. As much as he hates being in the limelight, someone with so much power can’t get away scot-free when it comes to media harassment.  

He’s electric.

The song ends with a wail of electric guitar, the crowd shouting and screaming in the enclosed room.  It’s ear piercing, and she watches him adjust in-ears that are usually meant for stadiums. He leans down, close to the microphone, “We’re fucking back, losers.”

The degradation is welcomed, by the crowd and her.  The way he looks makes her stomach flip, smeared eyeliner and already a little sweaty from the jumping around.  Jessika is also in awe, close to the shell of Rey’s ear again, “Holy fuck.”

“Let’s get a few things straight.”

His voice is so raspy.

“Put your fucking phones down and enjoy this live.”

The lowering of phones is quick, like a crack of a whip.

“Makeout, finger, fuck, do whatever.  No fighting.”

Is that a standard disclaimer?  Who would dare fight at a rock show?  Even fuck at one?

“Or I’ll have to fight too and I know none of you want that.”

He’s right, based on how his biceps flex in a way that sends her heart to beat even faster.  “No bras or panties on my fucking stage. I’m a married man now.”

Married man?  Since when?

The way he’s reaching into his back pocket makes her stomach lurch, then drop as the lacy black thong that was recently on her body comes into view.  The crowd loses their shit, screaming and hollering, even chanting, “Toss it, toss it, toss it.”

Kylo does no such thing.  He holds them up one more time and then shoves them back into his pocket.  “Are those yours?” Is it that obvious? Rey looks over at Rose, whose eyes are wide.

Rey shrugs, as an idiot would.  “Good luck charm. You fuckers ready to rage?!”  The departure from her undergarments is so quick that Rey can’t even dwell on the fact that he just did that.  Instead, she locks eyes with him while he looks for her in the crowd.

He winks at her.  That's her undoing, mind unspooling into thoughts of jumping him after he steps off stage, tongue, and teeth facing each other.  Then he starts playing the guitar again and they’re off to the races with Somebody Told Me.  Rey knows barely anything about his discography or when things were released, so an utterly blind concert is thrilling.

_Breakin' my back just to know your name_

_Seventeen tracks and I've had it with this game_

Rey can’t even describe the sour, bitter look on his face or how the words are spit from his mouth.  His injury is a point of hardship and he practically predicted it. It's rich to watch him absorb it, fingers flying across the neck of the guitar while he nearly swallows the microphone.

He’s beautiful to watch on stage, even when rage filled.

_Well somebody told me you had a boyfriend_

_Who looked like a girlfriend_

_That I had in February of last year_

_It's not confidential, I've got potential_

Rey knows that Kylo had been a total loser before Knights of Ren, he had to have been for that much rage and little care.  He’s a man on a power trip, but there’s a vulnerability in his admittance of potential.

_Pace yourself for me_

_I said maybe, baby, please_

_But I just don't know now_

_When all I want to do is try_

Or how he glances sideways at her, making her legs weak.

There’s little time between songs, only allowing him to get a drink of water from a monochromatic black HydroFlask that he’s hidden just backstage.  She wonders if he used to do cocaine in those short breaks, given that he comes back looking sweatier and more tired. Pain is beginning to blot across his features with each song.

Rey memorizes the setlist as they go because she’s a great fake girlfriend:

Hook Line and Sinker, with the way he sings into the microphone.

_I'm a slave to your addiction_

_Your affection and your friction_

_I've got all the money to buy exactly what I want_

_But you're not for sale_

Come On Over, with the memories attached in his eyes when he glances at her every five seconds like he’s singing the song to only her.

_So come on over yeah,_

_I've waited since you start believin'_

_Yeah so come on over yeah,_

_There's no God and I don't really care_

A departure into the odd sci-fi and six minute Knights of Cydonia that relies heavily on the synth to transport them into a weird western set in space.

_No one's going to take me alive_

_Time has come to make things right_

_You and I must fight for our rights_

_You and I must fight to survive_

They land right back on track with something that makes Rey’s heart patter for him, more than it had been all night. I Don’t Wanna Be In Love is pain personified, evident in the way he makes a point not to look at her.

The song is older, apparent given his distaste for it.

_She's going out to forget they were together_

_All that time he was taking her for granted_

_She wants to see if there's more_

_Than he gave, she's looking for_

_He calls her up_

_He's trippin' on the phone now_

_He doesn't want her out there_

_And alone now_

Someone hurt Kylo Ren very severely, or the world chewed him up and spat him out.

It’s abundantly clear which one.

_We break up, it's something that we do now_

_Everyone has got to do it sometime_

_It's okay, let it go_

_Get out there and find someone_

The way he seems to breathe new air after the song is done makes her limbs move, trying to shove herself closer to the stage to **touch** him, to put him back together again.  Jessika grabs the back of her arm, tugging her back.  Rey wants to fight it until the other girl nods her head to the brewing angry energy she was about to wander straight into.  Mainly guys standing closer and closer, moving in a sort of vortex that puts a good foot or two of space between the edges of the circle and the rest of the audience

Ten Tonne Skeleton starts the first mosh pit she’s been on the fringes of, and it’s utterly terrifying.

_Where did you go?_

_Where did you run?_

_I can't erase what you've done_

_Let's burn the past, forget the truth_

_I'm still more than him, I'm still loving you_

Of course, Kylo’s whiny “boo him, fuck me” anthem would inspire a bunch of immature men to shove each other and come to blows.  

_Cut loose like an animal_

_Fired out like a cannonball_

_But I waited too long_

_Yeah, I waited too long_

_Got me high from a holy vein_

_Crashed down in a hurricane_

That’s when things go very wrong, nearing the end of the song when Rey dodges a wayward fist from someone in the crowd.  Finn’s too slow to throw himself between the migration of the pit into the fringes of the theater where Rey and Co have camped out.  There’s no need, given the slam of a guitar being thrown on the floor and a microphone being ripped from a stand.

“Everyone fucking freeze!”

His volume is yelling, edging on screaming.  Somehow the crowd does as they’re told, mosh pit ceasing.  His breathing is heavy, indicative of someone who’s been working his ass off to entertain.

“Move your stupid fucking pit about five feet from my girlfriend.  Or I will come and rip each of your fucking heads off.” Her heart hasn’t stopped hammering in anxiety and Rey feels like she’s going to upchuck onto herself from waning adrenaline.

The crowd stirs and that’s when he jumps, scaring the shit out of Rey so her heart flies into her throat.  He lands on his feet, shoving through the mosh pit and straight for her.  Finn makes the stupid mistake of trying to get between the knight and the supposed damsel, Kylo pushing him to the side like a mere ragdoll.

She’ll have to talk to Kylo about that when she doesn’t feel pressing anxiety or the fear of dying at her first rock show.  Jessika steps away, given that Finn is now licking his wounds and glaring at Kylo for the transgression. His focus only lands on Rey, arms constricting around her so her face presses into the sweaty fabric of his shirt.  “We’re going backstage, yeah?” She’s trembling despite her wishes to remain collected.

“I’m fine-”

Kylo uses his size for his gain, pushing on her and making her move towards the side passage that leads out of the theater.  “My friends-”

“You first.  They'll probably follow.”

His mood changes like the tides, edged and screaming to softer and near whispering despite the murmur rising from the crowd.  It's a quick exit with him pushing her, navigating the convoluted backstage in his grip. “Don't stop your show for me.”

“I fully intend to continue with you backstage.  Like it should've been in the first place.”

His tone is acerbic and makes Rey lick her teeth to get the taste off.  “I just wanted to be normal.”

The way he laughs cuts deep, “Pick one or the other Rey.”

Her gut reaction is to question why she has to.

He continues with a scoff before she can give in, “You wanna be someone, but you want to have privacy and eyes still away from you.  Doesn't work like that.”

Harsh.  Though deep down, she knows it's his way of warning.  

Rey doesn't need it.

They slow to a stop backstage and she hears a tinny and nervous laugh from Rose behind them.  Thankfully her friends got smart and followed behind. “I’m okay.”

Is she?  Kylo is nosing along the top of her scalp, then settling a kiss on the crown of her head.  She hopes no one caught that moment on camera, mainly because of the intimacy and the way the stage highlights his profile in red.

“I’ll see you after I’m done.”

He begins to turn away before the panties pop back into her head and have her grabbing at his bicep.  “I need my panties.” Kylo glances back at her, shaking her off his arm and walking away to her open-mouthed shock.  Before she can flash out and grab him, he’s sauntering on stage and the crowd begins to rise in volume once more.

“Fucking asshole-”

“Do me a huge favor and fuck off of my girlfriend.”

The way it comes out of his mouth and into the microphone makes her stomach flip over and shake, her entire body shivering from pent up frustration and anger at the world.  She’s not his charge. Why does he act like he’s the ultimate babysitter for pulling her out of something she really would have dealt with.

The show continues as if she were a ghost, and his movements are a little stiffer during Figure It Out.

_Getting hard to sleep_

_But it’s in my dreams_

_But it's killing me_

_To try and figure it out_

The song that strikes her, nearly slaps her across the face faster than the mosh pit, is something he introduces with the roughest voice she’s heard from him.  His throat must be screaming for mercy, evident in how he swallows and huffs breaths between sentences.

“This next one is Paint It, Black.”  Everyone knows the song, even Rey because it isn’t his.  It’s Anakin Skywalker’s, Vader’s everlasting hit that everyone and their mother knows.

_I see a line of cars and they're all painted black_

_With flowers and my love both never to come back_

_I see people turn their heads and quickly look away_

_Like a newborn baby, it just happens ev'ry day_

Kylo’s version is more intense, mouthing against the microphone and growling each syllable.  The song reeks hate, rejection, a reverence and rite of passage sound. He’s been waiting to do this for a bit, a provocative move to make people squirm.

The anger comes out in a flash boil.

_I want to see it painted, painted black_

_Black as night, black as coal_

_I want to see the sun, blotted out from the sky_

_I want to see it painted, painted, painted, painted black_

The humming is haunting, whiny, putting her on edge.  It lasts as the drums build, at an impossible rhythm that hushes the crowd to bop their heads or bite their nails.  

That’s when the guitar screams; shucking it off his shoulder, ripping the cord from the amp and slamming into the stage floor while the beat continues.  Over and over, taking out his rage until the face cracks and the guitar falls to pieces. The music cuts out, and he’s stiff, back to her.

“We’re Knights of Ren, have a good fucking night.”

Without so much of a look back, he storms off stage and straight past her.  “Kylo.” Rey begins to follow, running to catch up with his pain filled gait.  She could care less about her friends, feeling their shocked gazes on her back when she slides to a stop to grab the back of his shirt.  “Kylo, look at me.”

“No.”

He’s still walking, fists clenched at his sides.  Did she do something wrong? She hadn’t even moved since he left her.  “Please?” That makes him stop mid-step, and she almost runs into him. She’s utterly careful about touching him or ramming into him; she can’t make his pain worse, no matter what.

Her hands drift over his sides, open tank giving her easy access to the flat planes of muscle that wrap his torso.  She now notices that his breaths are little gasps. Kylo isn’t mad; he’s pushing through pain and anxiety with nostril flares and gnawing on his lip; she’s never seen this state before.  “Let's go.” Maybe they could hide away, maybe she could help him-

“I can’t.”

She rushes out, “Why not?”

Instead of answering, he shakes his head and holds the back of his neck like he’s struggling not to fall to pieces.  This terrifies her; Rey’s never seen him like this, with a flush across his chest or squinted eyes that indicate a blurry head.  “I’ll call Chewie-”

“They want an encore.”

Another member she hasn’t interacted with upon introduction is running up to them.  “Fuck no, Rahim.” She didn’t expect a synth player to be short, but it's shocking when he also clears her head by a good five inches.  Not Kylo’s height or stature, but she feels dwarfed in between them.

“Just one more song, you know what Snoke-”

Snoke?  Who is Snoke?  Based on the icy plunge from anger to uneasy quiet, he’s nothing good.  She needs to press, to ask, but Kylo is shrugging her off. “Text Chewie while I’m on.”

“Please don’t do this-”

He walks away from her, passing her friends without a glance.  Finn performs a long glare into his back before setting his sights on Rey.  “Real charmer.”

“Finn-”

“Can we leave?  I want to get food and forget about this stupid concert.”

That makes her angry, and she’s never one to defend Kylo Ren, but he’s broken Ben Solo in her eyes right now and she sees red.  “It’s not stupid and I’m going home with him.” Finn raises his eyebrows at her and Rose looks to Jessika. Both girls are generally supportive and don’t question Rey’s choices.  

The principle doesn’t waver, “Text us if you need anything.”

“I will.  Let me know when you get home.”  She still has the decency to care about Finn’s safety.  She’ll never be too upset at him, only quick and fleeting rage before a waning disappointment.  Expressing emotions besides bubbly happiness isn’t her strong suit.

Though she’s functioning better than the man on stage, the beginning chords of Mr. Brightside heard from the depths of the backstage where she stands.  Maybe it's a default encore choice. Her hand is reaching for her phone, tapping Chewie’s message thread into existence.

**Rey:**

**we’re ready to go**

She sighs before continuing.

**he’s not in a good mood, and i don’t know what to do**

The message sends before she can take it back.

_Coming out of my cage_

_And I've been doing just fine_

_Gotta gotta be down_

_Because I want it all_

He could have it all if he let himself.

_It started out with a kiss_

_How did it end up like this?_

_It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss_

That is all this would be.

Two people who kiss and look pretty, and never make each other happy behind closed doors.

_Jealousy, turning saints into the sea_

_Swimming through sick lullabies_

_Choking on your alibis_

_But it's just the price I pay_

_Destiny is calling me_

_Open up my eager eyes_

Rey wishes he would open them wide.

_'Cause I'm Mr. Brightside_

✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎✖︎

Plenty happens when he hobbles off stage for the second time.  

A backpack is thrust at him, his limbs feeling like fire and a large syringe pulses in his back to a rhythm he can count — _pain_ _, pain, pain._ Rey’s the backpack offender, the checkered black and white fabric glowing beneath the small amount of light backstage.  She’s holding it out to him expectantly, and there’s no way he’s shrugging that on his back right now. He holds back from biting something mean at her, knowing that he doesn’t mean it.  Rey doesn’t know what it feels like to be standing right now, how much strength is required in the way he shoves it away from him.

That’s still a wrong move, her face falling and that’s when he notices his bomber jacket on her shoulders.  They’re going home; technically, he’s going home but she’s tagging on like a little bed bug from a Motel Six.  If bed bugs were as beautiful as her, he’d welcome them into the baggage that is his life with open arms.

“I need my-”

A knife of pain twists beneath his shoulder blade that knocks the wind from his lungs, stopping his request with a snap of a neck.  He can’t breathe and she’s reaching out to hold him by the biceps while he struggles to stay upright and not keel over to smack his face into a wall and go to sleep for a bit.  Anything to rip him out of his state of pain.

“Guitar?  Which one?”

Rey’s a smart girl and he tries to summon the air to speak.  “All black-”

“This one.”  Caedes is holding out his baby, a matte black Fender with more harsh edges than the shapely curve of typical guitars.  This one is banned from breaking, even being excluded from the rack of guitars he and Caedes cycle through at each show.

Kylo struggles out, “Put it in a case.”

“On its way.  Some roadie misplaced it.”

“Fucking dumbass.  Remind me to fire him.”

“Already did on your behalf.  He sorta cried-”

Kylo has the sanity to give Caedes a look, given that Rey is standing directly between them with an owlish look.  She doesn’t need to hear about their cutthroat hiring and firing practices. It doesn’t involve her and he’s not ready to hear chewing out about it from some green girl who lets people walk all over her.

That’s mean but he could care less.

Her voice is quiet, “Chewie is here.”

Thank god she followed his orders, and it gives them plenty of time to get out before Snoke shows.  There was no mention that he would, but Kylo isn’t willing to risk a Rey and Snoke run in. Snoke hasn’t been the happiest about the girl eating up his time, despite the rise in the coveted teen girl fanbase that proclaims how _soft_ Kylo has become.  If only they knew the fallacy behind such claims.

The guitar clicks into the case and despite his pain and need to scream, he shrugs into a hoodie that Rey has also held out, and slings the guitar case onto his back with a grunt.  Rey carries his backpack and he gently presses between her shoulders to get her to move. She’s astute and begins to shuffle, waiting for him to catch up to her side before gently tucking into him to hold him upright.

He’ll have to thank her when they’re out of here, but there’s no time as they’re intercepted by the one thing he was banking on.  Snoke is different from when Kylo first signed on. Twenty-one had been an easy year of releasing an album, tour, and the newfound charts that he had so coveted.  Snoke had been a smooth talker, getting Knights of Ren into all sorts of opportunities and smaller shows. They even headlined for a Senate comeback tour.

Then Snoke began to wane.  He shrank into the record label executive mist and pulled puppet strings from behind a curtain.  Come to figure out three years later, Snoke was sick. Very sick, stuck on dialysis sick. That made him no less tyrannical, but Kylo supposes he deserves the autocracy.

He hasn’t exactly been the easiest to work with-

“Good ticket sales.”  Snoke looks at Kylo with the piercing blue eyes that still read as otherworldly in his nightmares.  However, Snoke does not come in peace.

“Thank you.  For being impromptu-”

“Who’s this?”

His blood turns to ice cubes, expanding his veins and the pain is gone in opt for adrenaline that gets him to shoulder himself in front of Rey.  “My girlfriend.”

“The fake one.”

The verbal slap makes his hands shake, breathing deeply.  It’s true, she’s fake, but Rey is so much more than just a girlfriend-

“I’m Rey.  Nice to meet you.”  Rey’s hand thrusts out from behind him and he wants to shove it back down to her sides.  Snoke glances her up and down, calculating all sorts of things. Her potential, the size of her waist, how much money she could make for him.  Snoke shakes her hand and Rey has entered the devil’s den.

“We need to go home-”

“I think we should have a debrief.”

Fuck.  His back hurts far too much, spasming six times since the man rolled up.  “Tomorrow morning, please? I’ll get up early-”

Snoke narrows his eyes at him before glancing to Rey again.  Then, “Nine AM. Don’t be late like you always are.” The spitting tone makes his point abundantly clear.  Fearing an even more compressed album pushout, Kylo nods. “You got it. Thank you-”

“Babe we should go, Chewie is loitering in the alley and people are telling him to move.”

Rey rescues easily.  Snoke hums and Kylo clears his throat.  “Bye. Let’s go, baby.” Without a glance back, Kylo begins to walk away and tucks her under his arm despite the pain of lifting it to do so.  The walk is speedy and short, breaking into the cool May air with a cleansing breath. Venues get stuffy, and the Cadillac idles in the alleyway with a rumbling engine and two security guards at the driver’s side window giving Chewie shit.  “Step away from his fucking window and fuck off.” His tone is tired and a warning wrapped up into one, one security guard glancing back before visibly gulping.

Rey eases out from under his arm and takes the liberty to open the right backseat door.  “You first, I can take the guitar if you want-”

“No.”  The guitar never travels more hands than necessary, given that it’s his baby.  She looks briefly worried before nodding, and he hobbles into the car. The seats give him no relief on his imminent spine collapse, gripping the leather with white knuckles.  She slides in after him, backpack set on the floor of the car.

They speed off before Rey has her seatbelt on, making her slide into him and rock him to the point of exclaiming a “Jesus fucking Christ.”

“I’m sorry.”  The way it comes out as a slight whimper and the way she begins to scramble to the other side of the seat makes him feel like the ultimate dick, hands reaching out to grab her thighs to make her stay.  Her leggings are soft and she stops moving at his physical request.

Lucky for her, they get slowed down by fans.  Getting his windows pounded on always pisses him off, but this makes him see red.  The tint borders on illegal but it's not like he wants to see a face pressed up to the glass when he’s in his serene space.  “Honk the horn. Don’t stop.”

Chewie does as he’s told, laying on the horn to make a point.  In the meantime, he’s grabbing her by the waist and pulling her onto his lap to weigh him down like a makeshift weighted blanket.  She works as one almost effortlessly. “Can I have my panties back?”

The answer is quick, “No.”

“Please?  I’m-”

If only he could see her blush.  The car begins to move very slowly and it gives him the courage to push her legs apart reach down.  He stops just barely at the junction of her thighs. “May I?” Consent is vital for unsteady territory; he’s not an asshole who goes beyond his boundaries.  Or he tries not to be.

“I’m wet.”

“Good, let me help with that.”

“We’re in a car-”

“He wears headphones, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Rey seems to realize it just then, noticing the black headphones lodged in Chewie’s ears and the way his head bops so subtly as he whips out onto the street.  Kylo holds her tightly around her stomach as he does, so she doesn’t fly off of him. “Come on. Distract me.”

She wriggles in his grip and he loosens in case she wants to hop off.  Rey does no such thing, settling into him and his fingers find purchase on the gusset of her leggings to trace.  She is wet, he can tell by the slight dampness beneath the pad of his forefinger and thumb. “How long have you been suffering, _darling_?” He doesn't mean to be patronizing but she makes it easy.  

“Since you took my panties.  Which I would like back after this-”

He pushes her hair off to the side and sucks a sloppy and wet bruise into the curve of her neck.  “They're mine now. No take backsies.” His fingers now rub; the sharp hitch of breath lets him know he's found her clit, rubbing in a tight circle.  “I would fuck you right here but my back feels like it's supported with a hot branding iron. I hope you don't mind.”

“I don't.  Keep going.”

“Good girl.  You're coming home with me.”

“Yes.”

If he can’t fuck her, then there’s not much he can do with her besides fingers and his mouth.  Though given the last time they did something like this, he’s not sure if she’ll begin sobbing uncontrollably.  “I’m really stressed out.”

Here they go.  Kylo doesn’t stop his slow fingers, “Why?”

What could she be possibly stressed out about?

“My car broke down.  I can’t fix it.” She’s like his father, about to boohoo over a vehicle.  Kylo contemplates the irrational, deciding to pull the trigger in the same stroke.  “You can use one of mine.”

Rey gasps and he pins her down to slip his hand under her leggings.  One finger slips easily inside of her, despite the resistance from the skin-tight fabric.  He starts shallow, playing with his food. “I can’t possibly do that.”

“I insist.  I also don’t want the Aston Martin anymore.”

_Reminds me too much of my father._

“Kylo.”

He shoves deeper, so her breath is a little wheezy.  “You need a car in this city. I can give you one, and I fully intend to.”

“I can’t-”

His second finger enters her, “Take it.”

Her sighs are shaky, and she squirms while he goes deep with his digits.  “Okay.”

“Good girl.  Such a good girl for me.”  He kisses her neck more, then sinking his teeth into the back of her neck to leave a huge mark that no one will be able to ignore.  “Mine. My good girl.”

“Yours.”

“Only I get to fuck you like this.  Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes.”

Maybe that’s unfair to her, tethering her to him when she could have any man she wanted without any consequences.  He’s never claimed that he wasn’t selfish, territorial, or bossy. “Thank you for coming tonight.”

She relaxes even further into him, car shuddering to a stop at a traffic light.  That’s when she moans; eyes screwed shut while his pace slowly picks up. “You were meant for this.”  If he weren’t so committed to making her come, he’d stop and contemplate the weight of her words or if she understands what they mean.  His entire life has been spent in doubt, a shadow of a legacy that he’s only wanted to reach despite feeling like a fish out of water.

They’re both tailor-made for this, destinies mixing and intertwining together into a melody that pitches up an octave when she comes on his fingers with one of the most fluttery moans he's heard in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boy, i whipped this one out faster than i thought i would. thank you for the resurgence of love for this thing, it's truly my baby. here's a [moodboard by semperfidani](https://twitter.com/semperfidani/status/1112535336712724480?s=20) and [some lovely art by macey (who gave me a fuckin print of it at SWCC like um hi im crying in this airport)](https://twitter.com/ciindrlla/status/1113893824458313730?s=20). please follow both babes, they are so lovely for doing nice things for me. thanks babes.
> 
> chapter title is inspired by [Mr. Brightside by The Killers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gGdGFtwCNBE). 
> 
> **the list**   
>  [the el rey theatre](https://www.theelrey.com/)   
>  [imagine by aalya gunray (lmao im hilarious)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ihnfe0JkHdI)   
>  [ever wanted to got to a KOR show?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wrC1tqvOhFI&list=PLrVcDjwZgPZAzmsmH3iSsCixPrG4OIBQt)


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